Wilted Celandine
by The Ultimate Otaku
Summary: Hermione thought Malfoy just wanted Herbology tutoring. But then he kisses her. Then he's involved in an accident with another student. Then he screams at Dumbledore in a secret conversation. What is going on? Watch out, Hermione! UPDATED.
1. Default Chapter

Wilted Celandine  
  
When magic abuse equals chaos let loose  
  
Prologue First Person, Draco's POV  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"What do you mean 'what do you mean'?! I mean exactly what I said, you pillock!"  
  
Exasperated by my fellow Slytherin, I turned back to my potion to focus on adding the last few ingredients. I tuned out Goyle's mumbling drone, wishing for all the world that I was somewhere else. This entire week had so far been shot to hell, as far as I was concerned. There had been something to destroy all possibilities of me feeling positive on each day. First was Double Herbology on Monday, then another Quidditch match lost to Gryffindor on Tuesday. On Wednesday it had been the sudden flu I'd adapted, and Weasley's smug grin when he told me my face looked uglier than usual when it was green. It had been awfully humiliating to have to rush to the loo and puke without any time to say the usual witty retort.  
  
And on Thursday.Jeezus Christ, my cheek still smarted from where Granger had slapped me. The bitch was totally PMS-ing her guts out at me when all I did was laugh at Potter and Weasley's Transfiguration attempts. I swear I'd heard a little crack when her hand came in contact with my face. Who did she think she was? If I was so revolting, why touch me at all? Damn Mudblood.  
  
I glanced over at the girl in question. She sat, as usual, to Potter's left, leaning down to help Longbottom create his disaster. I had no respect for the Prefect, and she certainly didn't deserve any. Not only was she a Gryffindor, but she hung out with the riffraff, and was, overall, a smart- arse. She loved to show off.  
  
My eyes followed her hand as she lifted it up to brush a strand of bouncy, russet hair away. Regardless of the Yule Ball temporary transformation, and her ability to now make her hair not bushy, but instead to frame her face in long ringlets, she was still the ever annoying, sassy Muggleborn, whose birth had obviously been a severe mistake.  
  
Chapter One  
  
Third person, Hermione's POV  
  
Hermione's back groaned in protest as she instructed Neville about the importance of the order of putting ingredients in a potion. She felt horribly gross at the moment, like a sweaty pig. She had stayed up a little later than usual the night before writing an extra long Herbology essay, hoping to get Extra Credit points.  
  
Dumbledore had said at the beginning of the year that any Prefects who worked hard for Extra Credit points would have much higher chances of being Head Girl or Head Boy next year. Hermione dearly wanted the position of Head Girl, for she knew that it would be a responsible and respected position. But what she really wanted as Head Girl was to be able to form inter-house relationships, helping everyone to accept other houses, and especially to stop the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry.  
  
Hermione nodded, murmuring what she hoped was an encouraging, "Good job" to Neville before brushing a strand of hair from her face. Upon confiding to Ginny and other Gryffindor friends that her parents had suggested her getting a haircut, Hermione had been bombarded with shrieks of protest. Although Hermione had never been one to take advice unless she was certain it was from a bona fide source, she had admitted to herself that she agreed with her friends; getting a haircut was not something she wanted to do, and would certainly not better her appearance.  
  
Instead, she had opted for the help of a special magic mild curling shampoo, and now her usual bushy mop was transformed into a stream of glistening, bouncy ringlets. She absolutely loved her new hairdo. Besides getting approval from her Gryffindor friends, she had also had several admiring looks from a few acquaintances from other houses.  
  
Now, however, Hermione was beginning to wish her ringlets weren't so thick and bouncy, because they kept on getting in the way of her work. Several times last night when she'd chewed on her quill thoughtfully she had had a russet ringlet in her face the next moment. This happened again now, as she chewed her quill thoughtfully and then added the last ingredients to her potion.  
  
Then, sitting back in satisfaction, Hermione had just grabbed her Herbology essay she'd worked on last night, as well as her Herbology book-to spell check and study more about the poisonous plant they'd used in the potion just now, Celandine-when suddenly, SPLASH! Hermione sat up, spluttering in outrage and surprise, as she found herself suddenly covered in a thick liquid.  
  
Oh NO, she thought in despair. My potion!  
  
Clearing the orange gooey-ness from her face, Hermione saw that her fears were confirmed. The potion she had worked on so tediously had spilled on top of her. Her Herbology essay was also ruined! But who had.?  
  
Hermione looked around, furiously anxious, searching for the culprit..Goyle! He was standing a little ways away from her, staring at the girl he'd just transformed into a mass of pumpkin orange. It took all of Hermione's composure to stop from screaming. Malfoy! All of this was his fault! Hermione felt herself sink away from the world, pain seizing her entire body in sharp spasms.  
  
This was it. She had remained patient and tolerating for too long! That slimy Slytherin git would get it now, oh yes he would! No more insults of 'Mudblood' would come from his nasty mouth. No more would her potions and homework be destroyed by him. This conflict had gone on too long. He had begun it; she would end it. It's outrageous that I endured Malfoy for so long, Hermione thought as she slipped into unconsciousness, but not anymore. Starting now, I won't stand for this abuse.  
  
-----*-----  
  
Two weeks later, and Hermione had recovered. She was finally free from the dull whiteness and empty atmosphere of the Hospital Wing. Currently, Hermione was very pleased with herself. She had caught up with all her homework, squeezed in time for more Extra Credit, and had just finished hour four of studying for the big Herbology test tomorrow.  
  
Sighing, Hermione leaned back in her chair, smiling, her hair cascading in swirly rivulets down her shoulders. It felt so good to have a bit of rest. But no, she told herself, I must keep busy. Business is what keeps me going. If I let myself be idle, then all this effort I've given throughout the years, all the goals I've set for myself, my entire life, will be entirely wasted.  
  
However, as she had found in the past week, there wasn't much to do at Hogwarts. Homework was always extremely easy to finish, for Hermione always read at least one chapter ahead of her classmates. Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, Astrology, and History of Magic were quite easy. Potions was only hard to deal with because of Snape, and Arithmancy was quite enjoyable.  
  
As for Extra Credit, Hermione did errands for teachers daily, and was joyfully becoming involved in the S.E.E.-Suppliers of Education -and R.I.G.H.T-Righteous Illuminating Generals of Health and Tolerance-clubs. She had already scourged the library for facts and history for the club she was planning to form: H.U.F.F.-Historically Unordinary Flamel Followers-a group that would dedicate themselves to learning and distributing Nicholas Flamel's ideas and wisdom.  
  
Flitting through the library of her own mind, Hermione searched for a book that would give her images and information about magical herbs-she was planning to do a formal presentation in Herbology class the next day. Although she knew it would please Professor Sprout, she mostly wanted to do it for the fun of the research and the thrill that came with filling her head with more and more knowledge-it was like putting coins in a piggy bank.  
  
Deep down in the back of her mind, Hermione knew why she really occupied herself all the time. Not only did she want to show everyone her full potential as a witch, to prove that Muggleborns were just as good, but she also knew that if she wasn't kept busy she would fall apart. If she became idle, she wouldn't know what to do with herself, and be subjected to the frustration that came with loss of things to think about.  
  
The more she thought and used her brain, the easier it was to avoid lowering her own self-esteem, which she seemed to do automatically when not busy. So Hermione made sure to push herself to her limit every day, so that even at night she would be too tired to dream. Thus, dark thoughts of wishes of what could never-and, in reality, would never-happen wouldn't creep into her mind and spoil her life.  
  
She tried to tell herself that she was content, that all was well. But nothing ever was. Nothing was every truly well, and things were only partly well if she kept going and going and going, never stopping to ponder about the other things she could be doing in the life; the things she denied actually wanting to do, or find out.  
  
Hermione shrieked as she felt a tug, hard, on her hair. In an attempt to grab at who or what had done it, she lost her grip on the table edge, and her already tipping chair fell over with a crash. Moaning loudly in pain, Hermione remained like that for a moment, still sitting on her fallen chair. Her russet hair was in disarray, one sleeve of her gray jumper sliding sideways to reveal her shoulder, neckline curving down lopsidedly. The suede knee-length skirt she wore had slid up to her thighs, and Hermione had a distinct feeling that all who walked by would stare at her knickers.  
  
She had just begun to try and to get up, failing miserably, when a rich, musical voice said, "Well, well, well, who would have thought the Gryffindor Prefect would so openly display her knickers, as well as give all of us present a tiny peer at her.assets. If there are any to speak of."  
  
Hermione felt her blood run cold at the boy's words. Was there a crowd, standing there, staring at her? Was her bra showing? She felt a flush burn her cheeks as she failed to think of an indignant retort. Oh god, this is SO embarrassing! Frantic with worry, she anxiously tried to pull her jumper up and make it straight again.  
  
A snicker met her ears, and the boy's voice said, "No use covering up, Granger, you've got nothing to be proud of underneath there. Besides, it's already obvious that you're a virgin."  
  
Hermione wasn't sure tomatoes could be any redder than she was sure her face was now. That snicker, tone of voice, and the lack of respect he had given her told her exactly who he was.  
  
"Malfoy! Shut up and get your arse over here and help me up! Ten points from Slytherin if you don't!"  
  
His laugh made shivers run up and down Hermione's spine. "Ten points? Oh, please, Granger," his voice went up to a fake girly pitch, "Don't take away ten points! Please Granger, I beg you! Oh god, you're scaring me, I'm shaking in my boots!"  
  
Even through the humiliation and frustration, Hermione became aware of something she hadn't noticed before: Malfoy's voice had broken. No more were his sneers and insults high and nasal. In fact.how long had it been since she'd heard him insult her and her friends? Quite a long time! In the past few days she hadn't heard an insult or been tricked by Malfoy at all! How strange, she thought. But then again, he's still as arrogant as ever, swaggering around like he rules the whole castle.  
  
Wondering absentmindedly if Malfoy really was wearing boots, Hermione said coldly, "Get over here right this second unless you want it to be twenty points, you insufferable git."  
  
Unusually, Hermione didn't feel any satisfaction at her victory as Malfoy's boots clicked against the floor in his approach. She opened her eyes as a shadow fell over her, and found herself looking up into Malfoy's steely grey gaze. For once the Slytherin's face wasn't contorted in a vicious glare, an ugly sneer, or a mocking smirk.  
  
Expecting him to leer nastily at her at any moment, Hermione was about to open her mouth to speak when Malfoy bent down, and sliding his arms around her waist he heaved her up. Hermione's eyes widened in shock, feet dangling, as the boy slung her over his shoulder. Automatically she slid one arm around his neck, the other around him and clutching at the back of his robes.  
  
She didn't try to figure out why her heart beat so fast at him holding her, and tried to focus on anything but the smell of his cologne, a sweet-sour cinnamon and lemony shampoo scent. There was another smell about him that she couldn't quite label, but knew that she recognized. Unable to deny that feeling someone so close to her felt good, Hermione wavered slightly, dizzy, as Malfoy put her on her feet. It had seemed to last an eternity, her trip from the chair, to his arms, to the floor, but in reality only lasted a matter of seconds.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, her mind blank as of what to say or do next. As he leaned towards her, Hermione smelt peppermint. Her heart was making a drumbeat in her throat, and there was no oxygen she could think to breathe in, suddenly. But then he simply gave her a tiny smile, almost just a quirk of his lips, and flicking a ringlet of hair from her face to tuck it behind her ear, Malfoy turned on his heel and glided away.  
  
Falling, gasping, to kneel on the floor, Hermione whimpered, pounding her fists on the floor. Why did I let him why did I let him why did I let him, AUGH! He shouldn't have had any effect on me at all, but.he did. Somehow. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_Third person, Draco's POV_

Draco wrapped a towel around his waist, shaking his wet hair away from his face as the tawny eagle-owl flew in through the window. Petting her head for a moment, he closed his eyes, rubbing his fingers against the soft feathers. Then, nodding appreciatively at the creature, he took the letter from his talons and unrolled the Malfoy crested parchment.

_Draco_

_I'm very displeased with your records—both education and otherwise—of your activities at school. That Camcora is telling me your every move, and how often you are doing…well, you know. That horrendous activity I hate to know you do all the time. You've already disgraced the Malfoy name irredeemably, however I would hope you wouldn't disgrace us further by continuing the way you are. As for your grades, you are doing very well in Potions, although Charms and Astronomy are less than my expectations. Your Transfiguration grades are outrageous! I know that McGonagall woman is in Dumbledore's favor, but ignore that annoyance and pay attention! Tell Crabbe and Goyle I send them my regards, and DO SOMETHING about that damn D in Herbology! That's an order! Don't send me any more messages—just seeing your handwriting sickens me, boy_

_--Father_

Rolling his eyes, Draco scribbled a quick letter in reply:

_Frankly, father, I don't give a damn about what you think of anything involving me, and I will continue doing my activities, as I find them enjoyable and quite necessary. If the Malfoy name is disgraced, it's because of you, and we both know that, so don't go blaming me. Hogwarts and Dumbledore are the reason for my horrible grades, although if mother insists I suppose at least my Herbology grade should be improved. My handwriting will remain the way it is, thank you very much._

_--Draco_

Then, growling, he shoved the letter in the owl's talons, accidentally getting his fingers scratched. Pushing the animal out the window, he went to lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling above.

Not a single drop of blood fell onto the floor as a mark of the injury his hastiness had given him.

-----*-----

"Granger. Granger!"

Draco yawned as the girl finally turned around to look at him, realizing who it was that had been calling her name. He looked down at her from half-closed, sleepy eyes as she walked up to him. Her ringlets were tangled together in a wild mess, cheeks rosy from what Draco supposed she considered 'an exciting Herbology lesson.'

"Granger."

Her chocolate eyes sparkled in fury. "What?" she snapped.

"I have a request to make."

Draco stared her down, scrutinizing the young woman before him. She had dark eyes and glossy yet, in Draco's opinion, undernourished hair. Underneath her typical Hogwarts robes—with that red Gryffindor crest blaring out at Draco's eyes annoyingly—she wore a white, red-trimmed tanktop, and a black, polyester knee-length skirt.

_Polyester. Yuck._

"Polyester, Granger? What kind of taste do you have? Or do you simply let Potter and Weasley choose your clothes for you? As a Prefect, I would think that you would be a better role model. Although hopefully no one would be so stupid as to use you for an example. After all, you're barely what could be called human."

Her cheeks flushing in anger, the Gryffindor retorted, "Did you call me over just to insult my clothes, Malfoy? Or was there an intelligent reason behind it? I don't care what you think, Malfoy, and shouldn't you be accusing me of not being a proper witch? Why the sudden change of tactic, from Mudblood to alien?"

Draco gave her a cool stare, his eyes never blinking, boring into her firm, chocolate gaze. "Don't answer my questions with questions, Granger. I'll accuse you of whatever I want. Follow me."

Giving her one last glance to show her she'd better obey, Draco led Hermione up the hill to the castle. The wind blew warm and light that day, tousling the Slytherin's hair as he mercilessly stepped on pink and yellow flowers that obstructed his path forward. Finally reaching the castle and a door that led to the library, Draco opened the door for Hermione, saying curtly, "Ladies first."

Giving him a dubious look, Hermione walked through the door and, without giving Draco the slightest choice, went to sit in a shadowy corner at a table hidden by shelves. Pulling up a chair across from her, Draco sat down, his chair tipped back to lean against a bookshelf, legs crossed and booted feet resting on the table.

Smirking at the way the girl glared so viciously at his boots, Draco waited for her to say something. He loved making her get angry at him. The girl was always so composed, patient, and tolerant of him during classes, which was almost the only time he ever saw her. So making her occasionally get frustrated because of him amused Draco. He loved to make people feel the things they didn't want to feel. People around him so often denied their true feelings. Denial was, in his opinion, not a good thing. Even if it meant a harder time in life, to lie, and to lie to one's self especially, was, in his mind, illogical and just plain stupid. It would get one nowhere.

Finally, after minutes of staring with anger-flushed cheeks at his boots, Hermione sighed, and said exasperatedly, "Well, Malfoy? What's your request? Get out of my sight within the next five minutes and I'll do anything you want."

Draco took his feet off the table, and leaning forward, intrigued, he murmured softly, "Anything? Anything at all?" One brow he raised in doubt, his eyes glinted with implications of sly thoughts. He stared intently at the girl across from him. Suddenly, he seemed to be noticing things about her he never had before. He was looking at her in a new light. Not only was she a smart-arsed, Gryffindor, annoying, sassy show-off, but she was also an easily-embarrassed, vivacious girl who hid her true personality and deep, personal thoughts behind her pile of books.

Draco almost licked his lips. Girl. Yes, girl. True, he hated her guts and would happily damn her to hell if he had the power, but if she was a girl, that meant she was vulnerable, and he loved taking advantage of vulnerable people; they let him have power over them. Power was something that Draco found intoxicating. He could just taste it now, watching the apprehension sparkle in the girl's gaze.

Gulping, Hermione exhaled and tried to regain her composure by closing her eyes for a few moments. She found Draco's gaze intimidating, that intent, unblinking stare able to imply so many horrific things. Re-opening her eyes, Hermione replied firmly, "No. Not anything at all. There is a limit to what you can request."

Draco slid across the table a few inches closer. "Like what?"

"Well…" Hermione's voice was a bit shaky. "You can't request anything that would harm who I associate with, friends, family, etcetera. You can't do anything that would humiliate me," a little light fell from Draco's eyes, "You can't hurt me emotionally or otherwise. You can't use a wand on me at all, ever. And," by this time Draco's eyes were almost bereft of its entire previous glint. "You can't tell anyone living or dead, or inhuman, about this request of yours."

Draco's eyes were dark like black opals. Hermione smiled to herself. Draco felt anger and hatred boil up inside him as he looked at her, and suddenly, ideas were simmering in his head. Pushing himself to sit back in the chair, Draco returned Hermione's smile. His smile was, as Draco knew, a very eerie thing. On the rare occasions when he smiled instead of giving people his haughty smirk, those who saw it became frightened, for although it showed mirth—it was a true smile, after all—it had a tinge of evilness to it.

Standing up to smooth out his clothes, Draco said, "Here's the deal: Private Herbology tutoring lessons, seven PM, Astronomy Tower. Tuesdays and Thursdays. You think of an excuse to skip dinner."

Hermione stared at him for a few moments. Draco held out his hand, and, hesitantly, the girl accepted, shaking his hand. Her skin was warm and soft. It had been so long since he'd touched someone's skin besides his own. Noticing the way the Gryffindor shivered as he turned around, Draco's expression darkened, and then he left.

Tuesdays and Thursdays…That leaves Mondays, Wednesday's and Friday's for doing my other business. _Or as father would call it_, Draco smirked, _my 'horrendous activity_.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Third person, Hermione's POV_

Hermione eyed her figure darkly in the mirror. Fingering a ringlet of her hair, she spun around, frowning at the lack of attractiveness of her body. She had sworn to herself, back in Second Year, that she would never care about what she looked like. But lately, perhaps partly due to influence from other Gryffindor girl gossip, Hermione had begun to care.

She was curvy enough, actually. But the problem was that it wasn't obvious. She needed to draw people's eyes. _Malfoy's eyes_, Hermione thought, before quickly stopping that train of thought. _What is wrong with me? Just because he helped me up and happened to hold me close to pick me up off my chair doesn't mean anything. Besides, he slung me over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and he obviously has no respect for me whatsoever. Even more, he knows just by glancing at me, or something vague like that, that I'm a virgin!_

Hermione sighed. _What am I to do? I don't want to look like a slut, and I don't want the change to be extremely obvious! I just want to give myself the chance to get a second glance when I'm out in public. That's it._ She tried to convince herself of this, but then failed. _Okay, so that's not true, I want to be acknowledged as something other than a bookworm, Prefect, smart Gryffindor, and club member. I want to know that someone thinks I'm attractive, and I want…A boy. I want a boy to look at me. I know it's horrible of me, really, but…I can't help it! The hormones have begun marching. Maybe it's just my period? Oh god, I don't know, argh! I just wish I could find the right clothing that fits me well but isn't ostentatious!_

Biting her lip, Hermione glanced around the room, and that's when she spotted it.

It was black.

It was suede.

It was _perfect_.

-----*-----

Grunting, Hermione stumbled to the left, barely avoiding dropping her pile of study material. Today was Tuesday, the day for the first Private Herbology Tutoring Lesson with Malfoy. And it was currently 6:50. Ten minutes to go.

"Oh, NO!"

Hermione shrieked as she tripped, and she and her notebooks and other things began to fall. With a series of loud thumps, the thick hardback notebooks hit the floor, paperback creasing as it landed the wrong way. In her desperate fumbling to not drop her quill and parchment, the tip of the quill nicked Hermione's arm. Grumbling, Hermione quickly picked the books back up and ran the rest of the way to the Astronomy Tower.

When she got there, Malfoy was sitting at a table waiting, arms crossed, gazing up at the blanket of twinkling stars that was the night sky. He looked up as she rushed to the table, and plopped herself into a chair and her notebooks into his arms.

He looked up to give her a quizzical look, eyes glinting silver in the moonlight. "No books, Granger?"

Breathing heavily, Hermione said, "No books. Just notebooks."

"Why?"

"Open one."

Malfoy opened the green notebook to the first page, glancing down at the list of words in neat, small handwriting. "Is this a Table of Contents? It looks like one. Magical Spy ware…Vampires…Tentacula and Celandine…Wizarding Obituaries…What _is_ this, Granger?"

"It's one of my notebooks that I use to take notes in. I have a section for each subject. Turn to page 150, that's where Herbology starts. I want you to read three pages of that, and then tell me——or write down—what you don't understand. Don't worry, it's what we've been studying lately. Afterwards, I want you to write a one-page essay on common traits between different types of poisonous plants. Then, after that, you'll write a list of the names of the ten poisonous plants we've been studying lately—in Latin."

Malfoy looked up, his wide eyes revealing surprise in the usually expressionless, vacant, stormy gaze. Hermione smiled at the look he gave her. "Me thinks you doth protest too much! Malfoy, this is the beginning. Be grateful for the easy work while you're assigned. Now hit the books! Or should I say, the notebooks. And there's one thing I want you to keep clear in your mind as you do this—This was _your_ decision!"

-----*-----

Now, a week later, and Hermione was eating lunch alone in the common room, reading over his essay and questions:

_How is it possible for Celandine to have been studied if the roots were the poisonous part? You said that the root of the plant is what tells the magical properties inside and density of the plants inner juices, so how is it that the P.W.I. studied Celandine? Also, when you mix _Amaranthus_ with _Agrostremma githago_, why does it only kill mammals? What about…_

Hermione grinned. It was an enjoyable experience teaching Malfoy. It was actually much more fun than S.E.E, her educational club that helped teach First Years that had problems understanding things. When teaching Malfoy, Hermione felt on an equal level with the Slytherin, and she felt like she, although only one Gryffindor, and he, although only one Slytherin, were breaching the gap between the burnt bridge of their Houses.

His questions were intelligent, and he pointed out things in his essays that Hermione herself hadn't noticed at first. She didn't understand why he wanted, and somehow thought he needed, help in Herbology, but as the experience was fun and she was getting Extra Credit points for it, she continued teaching him. When she had asked him once why he had requested Private Herbology Tutoring Lessons, when he did fine in class and could have asked for almost anything else, Malfoy had answered her in one sentence: "Knowledge is power."

Then, for a while, Hermione had been doubtful as to whether she should continue teaching Malfoy, for if he was only going to use his knowledge to dominate over others, she did not want to teach him. But in the next lesson, his steady continued unusual kindness and enjoyable inquisitiveness, as well as the challenging questions he directed at her made her decide that there was no harm in continuing.

It was Tuesday again, and Hermione was on her way to Lesson Number Five. She was quite looking forward to it, and had decided this time to focus on the plant she herself was intrigued by most: Celandine. It was an herb that was not used often in Potions class, and the cause for her hospitalization when her potion spilt on her in class had turned her orange. The pain had been intense, and she had had to stay under Madam Pomfrey's care for an entire two weeks.

Grinning, Hermione reached the top of the stairway to the Astronomy Tower, and then stopped in mid-step.

Malfoy wasn't there.


	4. Chapter 4

I still have this fanfic on my computer. It seems that people actually like it. So I decided, why not upload more?

**Chapter Four**

_Third person, Hermione's POV_

Hermione was furious. He had skipped out on the lesson! It had been yesterday night when it had happened, yet the thought of it still made anger boil inside of her. _That slimy git…How dare he! After all we've been through, all those essays and questions and notes taken and…_Hermione sighed. _How could he do this to me?_

She was about to round a corner, when she saw it: blood. A shiver of fear running down her spine, Hermione backpedaled, and peering down the corridor, she saw no movement at all. But…wait. Was that a HAND?

Throwing down her belongings and rushing down the corridor, Hermione slipped, and fell to the floor, sliding against the wet surface. Eyes wide in horror, she stared at the scene before her. Blood. Everywhere. All over the floor. Tons of it. And…Draco! He and a girl Hermione didn't recognize lay on the floor, unmoving. Feeling her eyes brim with tears, Hermione bent over Draco in concern.

His face and neck had a few smears of blood on them. The contrast between the crimson colour and Draco's pale skin frightened Hermione. He looked so terrifying and simultaneously beautiful, his long lashes lying angelically against his cheeks, smeared with blood, his flaxen hair glowing like a beacon. He was extremely pale. So very, very white.

Sobbing, Hermione gently lay Draco's head on her lap, and, palms lightly resting on his head, her fingers rested against his temples. Emerald velvet and black silk complimenting his slender figure, surrounded by blood, it was as if the young woman who shed tears for him was mourning the death of a loved one.

But her sobs didn't meet the ears of a single soul.

Hermione felt more than disappointed when she was told that she couldn't visit Draco. She now stood behind a pillar, feeling guilty and sad about the situation, as she eavesdropped on Dumbledore and Draco's conversation. She needed to find out what had happened and how it had happened. When Dumbledore had entered the hospital wing, he had marched straight past Hermione and Madam Pomfrey and went to Draco's bedside, pulling the curtain shut for privacy without a single word.

Hermione had realized that she had become attached to Draco. Regardless of the occasional insult and disagreement with her, he was much more respectful and less arrogant than ever before. He acted like a gentleman upon her arrival and departure, but was willing to express his opinion straightforwardly during lessons, no matter how much it opposed Hermione's. That was one thing Hermione had grown to like about him: he was stubborn in his opinions and not afraid to speak his thoughts. He was honest and, truth be told, quite a good listener when he wanted to be.

Of course, there was the way he would sometimes give her that eerie smile of his, and the sinister glint in his eyes sometimes when they met gazes. But Hermione still cared for him regardless. He was her enemy no more than she was enemy to herself. She accepted him for who he was, and made her time spent with him an enjoyable experience by remaining calm and optimistic as much as possible. There was one thing Hermione hated about Draco, though: he only respected her because of her knowledge. And he tried his best to get her angry all the time. She didn't understand what it was he got out of making her frustrated, but the fact that he found it appealing at all angered Hermione even more.

Hermione tuned in and her personal thoughts slid to the distance as she focused all her attention and listening skills on the Headmaster's conversation with her student.

"Draco, please tell me what it was that happened a few hours ago in that corridor. Why were you with Annika Stein the Hufflepuff, and how did the blood come to be there? Please be honest."

Hermione could sense the uneasiness in Draco's voice. Only someone who had spent time with him and had studied him as much as she had could tell he was nervous. "I didn't know she was a Hufflepuff. She got herself into it; it's her problem, her fault she got hurt. The blood is hers; all hers."

Repressing a gasp, questions flew into Hermione's mind. _How could the blood have been all hers? How could she have lost so much? There was so much blood! She could die from all that blood loss!_

"You didn't tell me what happened, Draco, or why you were with her."

His voice was now hard as steel. "I'm not going to tell you. With all due respect, Headmaster, you're going to have to find out for yourself."

Curiousity stabbed at Hermione's mind ferociously. She couldn't help it; the urge to know was sizzling inside her. She heard Dumbledore say, "Alright then, Draco. I will find out. Before I leave though, tell me, Draco…do you know what your father is?"

A jolt of shock and fear shot through Hermione.

The viciousness in Draco's voice made Hermione shiver, as he said, "If you're referring to my father and the Dark Arts, my answer is no. But if you're referring to the dark creature that my father is, then yes, I know."

The tension was so palatable Hermione could almost taste it. "Are you, Draco, also a—"

"DON'T SAY IT!"

Hermione stayed for a few moments longer, but there was simply silence. She quickly and quietly slipped away, Draco's yell, his words enigmatic and intriguing, echoing in her ears.

For the next week and a half, Hermione saw and heard no sign of Draco, and knew him to be still in the hospital, for an upcoming Quidditch match against Slytherin was canceled. But on Thursday night, she had come up to the Astronomy Tower for some peace and reminiscing, and a look at the stars, when he returned.

She was leaning against the stone rail, looking up at the luminescent beauty of the moon, when the scrape of something moving made Hermione jump suddenly. Turning around in surprise at the disruptive noise, she found Draco sitting in his usual position on his chair, booted feet and coat on the table. It was a sight Hermione welcomed. But he was laughing at her.

Feeling her cheeks flush pink in embarrassment and annoyance, Hermione smiled, saying, "Why, if it isn't my favorite and most troublesome student."

For a moment, simple, chocolate eyes locked with mysterious silvery ones, and silence reigned. Hermione felt herself sucked into his gaze, willing to jump into it, join with it; anything to be closer to the mystery and magnetic calm and power that was Draco Malfoy. The tornado of questions about him that swirled in her mind, waiting for answers, was too strong for Hermione to deny his tight hold over her.

Giving her that haunting smile, Draco stood up, and with a whirl of his cloak and steady stride or two he was at her side. Staring up at him, Hermione's heart beat so fast it was almost unbearable, and the intensity of his gaze made her feel weak in the knees. She wished he would stop looking at her so intently, and yet she wanted his eyes to stay on her for as long as possible, for that meant that his attention was focused on her, and her alone. Hermione felt that if she was worthy of his gaze, though, then surely having him a tad closer wouldn't be too much of an honor to ask for, right?

It seemed almost as if he heard her thoughts, for, indeed, he did step closer. The world seemed to stop as Hermione smelt the many scents that had first drawn her to Draco Malfoy, as he leant forward, eyes shimmering in the moonlight. Then all comprehension of her breath, skin, body, and mind were lost as she drowned inside his kiss.

Humanity was shed, and Hermione seemed to gain the wings of a creature so great and terrible that even as she seemed to fly, her heart fell into the depths of a dark chasm, and the pain mixed with glory seemed to continue endlessly. His mouth against hers, the warmth and moistness bringing an immense pleasure, was the ultimate rapture, the gentleness and steady devotion filling Hermione with an awed elation.

She felt she could give herself to him, that forever was not too much if it was related to the gift that was his lips on hers. Then he teased her, hinting of many more possibilities as his tongue probed at her lips. Leaning to rest her body against him, the lovely sensations continued, allowing Hermione to adapt to the tingle underneath her skin, as mouths opened, and passion increased. She wasn't aware of pain as his teeth dug into her soft bottom lip and drew blood, wasn't aware of sounds as the tingling pleasure made her moan quietly. His tongue's touch was bliss and the scent of Draco that filled Hermione's nose was what had been the appetizer for their current bond.

Then it all ended with he simply pulling away, and Hermione was left bereft and wobbly as her flight was stopped abruptly at a disappointing halt. She hadn't the heart or the alertness to stop Draco leaving as she remained still as stone, eyes wet and skin still pleasantly tingling.

Finally she moved, stopping to press his coat to her face before quickly tucking it away and trying to escape her heart's insistency with a speedy runaway. She had let herself open to falling apart. She had not busied herself enough. She had let Draco Malfoy weave a spell around her and then hook it around her neck. Hermione promised herself he would never be able to make her doubt and question herself again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_First person, Draco's POV_

I was hungry. So very hungry. The feeling gnawed at me all night, eating out my insides, feasting on my vulnerable state. I'd been hungry ever since leaving the hospital wing. I felt weak, too, as if too much walking, the effort of lifting one foot to place it somewhere else, was too much to bear. I skipped breakfast the next morning, and during Potions my hands shook so hard I dropped a vial into my cauldron. After class Snape drew me aside and asked me how I felt, and unable to lie to the greasy haired professor, I told him I felt horrid.

But I didn't go to the hospital wing, and I didn't drink the stomach ache helping potion Snape had given me. Instead, I rushed back towards my common room. But halfway there, I was wheeling around a corner when I collapsed, falling through a doorway into an empty classroom. After retching horribly I walked into the empty room and sat on the window seat, my face pressed against the despicable cold of the glass.

I felt so drained. It was unbelievable how unenergetic I felt. Did they feel like this? Was this their normal way of feeling? Did they perhaps feel a hint of what was my normal state when adrenaline rushed through their veins?

I wanted her again. Wanted to taste her sweetness. Anything to satiate my hunger, my lust. Nothing I did, no one I met, could quench my desire. My 'horrendous activity' was now impossible to do. Father would be happy. Well no, not happy. That man was never happy. He would be pleased, for a while, and then he would find another thing about me to be upset about. Ignoring him had been easy before, when, free from him at school, I could do almost whatever I wanted, ambush without fear of being caught.

But now, in my bad condition, I thought of him, because his warnings had been right. In the end I could die from continuing to do what I had, if I didn't continue the process to the next step. But I didn't know how to go to the next step. My father had only vaguely mentioned it once by accident, and even if I did know what to do, it was obviously something difficult.

It was something harder than hunting. I couldn't hunt even if I did have the energy to. For hunting, lurking in the shadows and pouncing when I felt hunger, or wheedling them in gradually before I had my fill, that didn't satisfy me anymore. Now, upon doing that, upon trying to continue what my father had called 'horrendous activity,' I felt empty. I could not be satiated, and knew not what would fulfill my needs.

I was becoming a monster, an addict to what I couldn't have but needed, just as my father had warned me of. The emptiness had grown immensely since my exit from the hospital a month ago, and now I knew that if I never got the information out of my father, if I never figured out how to save myself from imminent doom, my next victim could quite possibly die.

But I couldn't let that happen. No. If I did, then all would be lost, and I would be arrested, and most probably killed. Azkaban would be heaven compared to where I would be sent, compared to what would happen to me. Not that I really knew what they would do to me; but I knew it wouldn't be good.

One night, I was pacing back and forth in an empty classroom, when suddenly the door creaked a warning, and I quickly ducked out of sight before it opened. She walked in, sighing quietly, and closing the door silently behind her, began walking towards me. I eyed the girl hungrily. Most of the time, Hogwarts girls figures were, for the most part, hidden, the plain robes and scarves, cloaks, and coats worn in winter covering the delectable. Even in summer, when their curves were more obvious and less covered, the plain robes diminished their attractiveness and did nothing to reveal their figures, unless they were sluts, like stupid Pansy.

I didn't like the sluts. They were worthless girls, young women whose doubts and lack of confidence in themselves made them feel the need to be accepted. They were in illusion, thinking that to show off their figures overtly would attract the male population. Only wankers went for the sluts, desperate 5th-7th years and men that should be too old to be virgins. I liked young women, people who were too young and inexperienced to be called women, yet too strong and physically developed to be called girls.

In truth, I didn't give a damn what House a young woman was in, as long as it wasn't Slytherin—I was bitter towards my fellow housemates, their patheticness and feeble attempts to be dark and threatening a pain to me. The Slytherin female population was almost as bad as the males. Most of them were sluts, unless ugly hags like Bulstrode, and the ones that were young were stupid, their nasal voices and pesky, leering stares disgusting. As for the males, they were shaming. I sometimes felt embarrassed to be counted amongst these Slytherins. They shamed the cleverness and ambition that came with our House title. I hated most of them.

Of course, no one knew this but me. Externally I was the picture perfect Slytherin, continually condescending and selfish. I was proud, stubborn, harsh, hateful, and all those other Slytherin-like qualities that the Gryffindors defined as "nasty," but I wasn't actually pathetic and unreasonably insolent like I pretended to be. That was just a show. And I enjoyed doing the show. While externally I sneered, internally I laughed at their stupidity, that they could actually believe a person like the one I pretended to be was real.

I wondered sometimes how Granger saw me. Did she look at me and feel the same hatred and disgust as the other Gryffindors? Did she hate me as much as Potty and Weasel did? That wouldn't entirely make sense though; surely she was more perceptive than them! After all, the young woman was intelligent, and had a brain worthy of boast in her skull. But I couldn't quite read her well enough to tell if she could see through my façade or not.

I looked up as my company walked past, and that's when I realized that the young woman was Granger herself! Her back faced me as she stood beside the desk she would usually occupy in this class—History of Magic. The long cloak that swirled around her was unclasped with a tiny click, and fell to the floor to reveal a Granger I had never known existed.

Suddenly, that full mouth I had kissed that had always spoken to me either as a hateful Gryffindor or stern teacher was riveting. The parting of her lips as she whispered a spell—a Silencing Spell—made me become entranced. I was immediately captivated the moment that cloak fell from her shoulders.

Slender figure, full bust and gorgeous legs were revealed to me by a sleek, suede, black dress that dared to go no further than her thighs. Finally those bouncing ringlets were nourished and healthy, sweeping her shoulders in a wild tangle of glossiness. Her face, of which I glimpsed the profile, was slightly decorated with just the right amount of make-up. A silver jewel-studded cross hanging on a chain increased the enticement of her surely smooth and soft skin, and graciously led my eyes to the non-excessive insinuation of cleavage as well as her full and shapely bust. Grace and femininity that I had never seen or even imagined before shone from Hermione Granger. Something stirred within me, and I felt an attraction to her that only furthered the torture of my already overwhelming needs and desires.

My reverie was broken as suddenly she cast the _Lumos_ spell, and I had to get out, leave before that wand waving light around the room lit on me. I scrambled to the door and was prepared to leave in a span of seconds. But I looked back as the door was opening. The light from her wand hit me in the face, blinding me; I was the maker of my own sorry fate, having looked back. The moment of weakness made me slower, and as I made my escape, I knew I'd left a few moments too late. She had seen me.

I had failed and betrayed myself.

Any following disasters would be my own fault.

I knew the consequences of my actions would be my doom.


	6. Chapter 6

_I would like to give thanks and credit to **Darren Shan**, author of the _Cirque Du Freak_ vampire series, for the inspiration behind vampirism in this fanfic, particularly in _this_ chapter. I would also like to give credit to **JohnCC2**, who pointed out that I had not given credit where it was due, and that my not giving credit was absolutely disgusting. I agree! When I wrote this and uploaded the first 7 chapters I was a young, oblivious idiot. Now I am not, so now I am giving credit! _**=D  
**

**Chapter Six**

_First person, Hermione's POV_

It was Hogsmeade weekend. Fortunately, that meant a lot of work for me. I was busy all the time, constantly preparing and doing last-minute studying, as well as arranging a project for my newly-formed club, H.U.F.F (Historically Unordinary Flamel Followers).

I split the club into three groups, each of which had a quest. One group would walk all around Hogsmeade and put blue tags at all the places Flamel visited in his day (yes, he had visited some places in Hogsmeade, believe it or not). The second group's job was to put flyers all around Hogsmeade, promoting our club (those who wanted to sign up would come and submit their information to me at the Three Broomsticks). And the third group, the smallest one, was supposed to set up a booth by Zonko's Joke Shop and sell books by or about Nicholas Flamel. All in all, it was wonderful, but very tiring.

After a few hours, quite a disappointingly small amount of people had signed up for the club (only 7 people added to the list to make the club number 17, not including myself). Nevertheless, I was exhausted, and Prefect duties called, so I summoned up my right-hand-woman—Hannah Abott—to take my place. After stopping at Zonko's to check on the club booth and have a chat with Ron and Harry, I decided to go for a walk.

Hogsmeade was always full of people, and although people were moving back in forth from shop to shop, streets were always filled. Usually I liked the hustle-bustle, but today the satisfied yet frenzied mood of my fellow students did not make me content. I felt like, as Bilbo of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien (a very famed and talented wizard) had said, 'butter that has been spread on too much bread.' Exhausted, irritable, and sluggish, I wasn't even happy at finding a little dirt road that led away from Hogsmeade.

I had no excuse to be walking away from Hogsmeade, but I was sure a short ten-minute walk would do no harm. I had just stopped to lean against an oak tree and gather my thoughts when I heard a short yell from behind me. What on earth…? _Why do these things always happen to me? Why do I have to be part of people's adventures? I'd love to have one day where I'm not busy and nothing abnormal happens_, I thought.

Sitting up, I started walking towards the yell. I tried to fight down my nervousness. It was just a yell. Not very loud or pained-sounding. Perhaps someone had simply tripped on a tree root? My frantically beating heart denied my mind's insistent calm, and against my attempts to think logically, ideas spun in my head and I began to jog towards the sound of a second yell, this one cut off suddenly…

I fell to the ground as, in my hurry, I barely missed being whacked by a tree branch. Looking to my right, I saw a young girl of about twelve lying on the ground. She was barely conscious, and blood dripped from her neck. Leaning over her, breathing hard from the run, I felt so worried. What kind of horror was this? Was it…

The girl murmured half a word before blacking out. Her eyes were staring widely at a point directly behind me. "Vamp…"

I blinked. Vamp? _Oh, no, don't tell me she meant…_

"Usually I wouldn't be so careless. Really, usually I would make sure to do a Memory Charm on her, and bring her to a spot where she could easily be found by humans, not here at the edge of a forest, hidden among the trees. But as you've got to understand, I was desperate. Desperation can do that to people—change them. Dying men can be like that…Not that, technically, I _am_ alive…but that's simply a minor detail."

Quickly, I turned around towards the new voice. The hooded, cloak-swathed figure behind me was not what I would call a man. But he wasn't too far from it. I estimated his age to be about 16 or so. His form was that of someone tall and lean. For some reason, he struck me as a clever, confident, serious person. Fast, too, for the way his hands—twiddling around randomly in front of him—disappeared when I turned around was almost too quick to see. But, although at the time they didn't seem important, I noticed several details about those hands: Thin, very pale, perhaps aristocratic, the right decorated by a single, emerald-studded ring, the left holding a wand. He stood directly behind me, the only thing about him not black being the glimmer of eyes I saw glowing out from the darkness of his hood.

I knew _what_ he was. "You're a vampire, aren't you?" I regretted the words as soon as I said them. What on earth was I doing? This wasn't some boy playing Dracula games. The girl had said he was one herself! Kind of…But what was a vampire doing out in the sunlight? They couldn't stand it. Enough sunlight, and they would die…or, er, whatever it was the undead did…because they were already dead, right? Perhaps they shriveled up in the sun? Why was this vampire out here?

"An astute observation, Milady. I am vampiristic, and, you may note, quite proud of it. Now then, would you like me to escort you back to Hogsmeade, or would you rather travel alone?"

I blinked. What did he think he was doing? Were vampires normally like this? I had watched too many Muggle movies for my own good. I had mixed up what little I'd read about them in books to what I'd watched in horror flicks and films. Thinking back on my notes about them taken in History of Magic, I remembered a few facts: They couldn't bear the sunlight for more then an hour. They were more agile, fast, and had better senses than humans. They were, in a sense, nocturnal. Their skin was always quite pale, one reason for them being called the undead, for they were said to resemble corpses, walking, pale and gaunt creatures of the night.

But most everyone knew that, as well as the myths about them being repelled by crosses, holy water, garlic, and a wooden stake through the heart being what would kill them. No one knew if any of those were true, for vampires were a vastly decreasing species. Vampire hunters didn't hunt them as viciously and successfully as in olden days, and nowadays vampires were taking up the guise of humans. Those who weren't doing so, it was said, were either hidden away in dark, uninhabited places of the world, or else they were living alone in a sheltered place, or working for You-Know-Who as Death Eaters.

In truth, I didn't know very much about vampires. There were so many stereotypes and unproven theories about them that it was hard to know what was true unless you actually encountered one. Of course, there was one standing before me, but still, that didn't mean he would tell me all the secrets of vampirism.

I figured he must be a half-vampire. That was why he dared to venture out in sunlight. _He must be one of the ones living in a dark, uninhabited place—the forest by Hogsmeade! This way he has opportunity to easily corner victims when they're alone, yet not be caught. But now he's been caught. By me. _Suddenly I was filled with fear. _Oh, god. What do I do?_

Smiling, I said, "No thank you sir, I'd rather have peace and quiet on my walk back to Hogsmeade," _damnit, I shouldn't have mentioned where I was going_, I thought, "although the offer is very kind of you. I appreciate it."

With that said, I carefully levitated the vampire's victim to the side of the road, leaned her up against a tree, and cast a few healing spells on her. Someone else would find her. I put a Shielding Charm on her as well, just to make sure nothing else harmed the poor girl. I looked up from my spell casting as the vampire came up behind me again. He was so damn quiet. Catlike.

Doing my best not to show my sudden apprehension, I nodded courteously to him, and went on my way back to Hogsmeade. Once I rounded the road's curve and the vampire was out of sight, I began walking a little faster, glancing around and back every few seconds to make sure he wasn't following me.

And he wasn't. I was so surprised. It was the closest I'd ever been and spoken to a dangerous human-like creature.

I had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.

That night, I read up on vampires as much as I could, and found out much information. But it took me so long to find the right book. I scourged what seemed to be the entire library (other than the Restricted Section, of course), and still, not a single book had in it information I didn't know about vampires. Finally I saw it: the book I knew would tell me things I felt I needed to know. The librarian told me the book had been checked out for one week before last Thursday—two days ago—and so that was why I hadn't found it before.

Feeling a jolt of excitement, I slid the book from the shelf and sat at a table. Giddy with anticipation, I opened it slowly, reverently, smiling at the whispers of the thin, yellowed pages against my fingers. Quickly I skimmed the book—the Table of Contents was half faded and gone—and found the heading: The Undead, and then turned a few pages to find the word 'vampire' blaring out at me. Eagerly I read the entire section on them, scribbling notes in my newly purchased notebook. Two particular pages interested me greatly:

_Many of the myths on vampires are, in fact, not true. Vampire victims do not turn into vampires themselves, and, unless excessive blood is sucked, do not die. Although it is a traumatizing experience, and is known to cause victims pain, vampires do not necessarily suck blood from the victim's neck. Instead, they often simply make a cut somewhere on the victim's body, and suck only as much blood is necessary. Vampires see blood as their food and drink, but do not suck blood excessively unless they are starving or deranged._

_There are only two known ways one can become a vampire. One, is to have a vampire's blood mixed with one's own through the hands, a magical kind of process, and two, to have a parent who is a full vampire. Vampires who were once humans have cuts on their fingers where blood was traded, but half or full vampires born that way do not. Vampires are very sensitive to sunlight, and exposure for over an hour can kill a vampire. However, half-vampires can stand sunlight until they turn of age. When a vampire turns of age, usually at eighteen years old, he or she stops aging like a human, and begins aging differently. For every ten human years, an adult vampire will age only one year. And for every five human years, a half-vampire will age one year._

_There are many kinds of vampires. Often, the methods they use to suck blood and their victims are personalized by whether they are cursed or hexed. One rare type of vampire is the Psychic vampire, vampires who drain energy from humans, plants, and sometimes electrical machines, with or without knowing it. Not all psychic vampires are malevolent, in fact, they rarely are. Those who know that they lack energy and have the ability to drain it from people use their abilities well, and have practice. They choose a victim and then go through a ritual that will make sure that they get that person's energy._

_There are several symptoms and signs by which one can identify a psychic vampire. They are known to sometimes be touchy feely, and give unwarranted or exaggerated physical signs of affection. Oftentimes they are used to being the center of attention, and become deflated when not; they can be insistent to give you some form of a gift that you will have to touch often. When they are ill, which is seldom, they recover very quickly, and they always seem to get things to work in their favor. Some psychic vampires' eyes change colors at different energy levels. Psychic vampires are also known to be an attractive, sensual person with high charisma, and these vampires that can appear young for their age are known to be very draining._

_The only way to kill a vampire is to either cut off its head or burn it. Vampires rarely have spouses or indeed partners of any kind, whether romantic or otherwise. They like to keep themselves isolated and distant, and do not like to keep relationships of any kind unless business-like and/or with another vampire. Love between vampires and a human is highly forbidden, and humans who have found their entrancement with a vampire returned are known to become victims of the vampire years later._

_The Vampire Bite is a method used by ancient vampires. This is when, rather then making a cut and sucking the blood, the vampire will sink its teeth into the victim's neck, drinking the blood and, sometimes, killing the victim or leaving the victim traumatized and haunted for life by the experience. It is the method that, now, only deranged vampires. Usually the victim's of vampires are female, for the supposed theory that the vampire finds the blood sweeter and more satisfying. _

_The attitudes of vampires do not vary much. They are quiet, isolate creatures, most enjoying their loneliness because it is the way they have known for centuries. They keep their secrets to themselves, yet often enjoy recounting especially dramatic tales about victims to an eager listener. Some vampires are known to have quick tempers, however, most are quite impassive and nonviolent. Vampires who use seduction for the purpose of luring victims are known to primp, however, most of them simply be as inconspicuous and attract as little attention to themselves before attacking a victim. They choose their victims very carefully, and, if they have not already gathered much information on that person, test the victim's blood before making an attack plan. Vampires are very strategic and cautious._

_Suspicious that you know a vampire? Turn to page 436._

I shut the book after reading that, and sticking a bookmark at that spot, I turned to page 436, but then promptly lay my head on the book. I yawned, and then fell into a deep sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_First person, Hermione's POV_

Three days later, it was Monday, and I still hadn't found the chance to turn to page 436 in the book—"_Metamorphoses and Definitions of __**Acerbus**__**Mortifera**__," _nor had I even had time for further studying of dark, deadly things. However, my encounter with the vampire had somehow made me more open minded, and contemplative. I felt curious about the race of vampires, feeling awe and wonderment, and the urge to understand how these dark, deadly creatures could be so horrifying and yet enchantingly, gorgeously dangerous. It was as if they turned their darkness into a magnet, so that their aloofness and mystery was what in fact turned people towards them, instead of what turned them away. I didn't understand, but wanted to, and had this urge, this gnawing _need_ to figure out such rare, powerful, clever creatures.

Eventually it got to the stage where I thought that if I didn't understand vampires and their ways, I would burst. I had always been able to find answers and gain knowledge by reading books, but somehow, even with all the information about vampires I had read up on in my manic obsession, I felt I didn't know enough. I wanted to probe a vampire's mind, or to experience being stalked by one, anything to not be clueless in a situation where I was in danger of being a victim; mostly I just wanted to know because knowing gave me joy, pride, and confidence. I felt that, equipped with my brain and my wand, I could do anything, even the impossible. It made me feel strong, and strength was something that, before knowing I was a witch, I'd felt I'd always lacked.

So I went to visit Annika Stein, the Hufflepuff who had been attacked by a vampire right before Draco came upon her and fainted from shock, or was knocked out from behind by the escaping vampire—at least, that was my theory of what had happened before I had found them. The fourteen-year-old redhead was sitting at the Hufflepuff table during lunchtime, surrounded by a group of giggling girl friends.

I went about it casually, and finally I had the girl, two years my junior, and two of her nosiest, most trusted friends, paying attention. I decided to say it straight out, and, trying to be kind yet forward, I asked her what it had felt like to be bitten by the vampire.

Her big, hazel eyes stared at me for a few moments, and she asked me, mouth wide open, "How did you know it was a vampire? Did Dumbledore tell you?"

Not sure if it was the right thing to do or not—although I did so hate lying to people, so I supposed it was right to tell the truth, I shook my head.

Still gawking, Annika—an American exchange student with a Germanic name—fingered a bit of crimson hair, twirling it around her finger. Finally she stopped staring at me, and looking off in the distance, in a thoughtful mood, she replied, "Well, I guess you figured it out 'cause you're smart. Anyway, you want to know what it was like? It was…weird."

She paused, and for a moment I felt my cheeks flush in anger at such an inadequate and unsatisfying answer, but then I calmed down once she continued.

"I felt afraid, as if I was gonna die, but I also felt—I know this sounds crazy, but it's true—I also felt really amazed, and…happy. It hurt horribly, and I was terrified, but at the same time the sensation of those teeth in my neck, oh it was so…wonderful. I felt…almost, well, honored, to be this guy's victim, and he was just so powerful and fierce, like an animal!"

She giggled, and then ended with, "I felt like I was his juicy treat, and the idea that I was fulfilling his…hunger, or whatever, was somehow really satisfying, even though it hurt, and I still dream about it sometimes, like how I could've died…"

I felt I had to put something in, say something after all that, and replied, "Well actually, they only kill you if they are deranged or starving. So most likely you wouldn't have died."

She stared at me, and burst out laughing, saying, "Gawd, you're such a nerd!"

Then seeing the look on my face, she said, "But that's okay, I'm grateful to you, and you're nice, because well, you helped me relive the experience, and I needed that to fully recover. I wish I could tell you how gorgeous the guy was…So luscious, so strong…but when I really try to remember, I can't…and the way he petted my head…I felt I could faint with happiness."

After a fakery of a cheerful goodbye, I walked away and out of the Great Hall, pondering what the Hufflepuff had said. It was obvious to me that she was a fool and knew next to nothing about vampires, for I knew that vampires didn't become affectionate with or really picky about their victims—they didn't care about the age, just the blood taste—and from the sound of it, this vampire had been desperate, and so that was why he had bitten her, and sucked so eagerly.

Wait a minute…

Desperate? That reminded me of the vampire I had met! He had spoken of being desperate, and of dying. What a thought…could there be a vampire roaming at Hogwarts? Maybe one of the students was a vampire…

My mind spinning with everything I'd read about vampires, as well as Annika Stein's words and my memory of the encounter with the vampire, I fled down a random corridor. I needed to find a quiet place. No disturbances, no fellow students, no common room noise, no friends or teachers. Banging through a random doorway, I found myself in the very room that I had come to a few days ago, to put on my special dress and blank out everything that had happened a month before, with Draco abandoning tutoring and being in the hospital for so long.

There had been no reason at all to dress up, to put on make-up, jewelry, and the dress. But I had wanted to. I had done it be able to sink more into my fantasies, and to forget the problems involving Draco Malfoy. That night I had blanked that out, and pretended that I was with Draco again, and that things were the way they were when I had tutored him. I had also gone over in my mind the kiss he'd given me.

Now, however, I had a different quest. I needed to think. To remember. I knew that if I persevered, and kept my mind focused, I could scribble things down and eventually figure out this vampire situation.

However, deep in the recesses of my mind was a question: After figuring out the situation, would I ever be able to resolve it?

It was now six o' clock. I thought I had figured it all out. It had taken three hours, but I had gone to sleep afterwards. Blearily, I now sat up, having slowly opened my eyes and immediately looked at the clock on the wall to see what time it was. I had slept for so long! Only three hours of business, and my body decided it needed two and a half hours sleep after scribbling notes and deeply thinking from 12:30 to 3:30. How annoying. I hadn't meant to sleep that long!

I wondered if anyone had missed me. Most likely not. Ron and Harry had skipped lunch for a game of chess. They probably thought that after lunch I went to the library, or to a prefect's meeting. Which could very well be true, in their minds; I kept myself so busy these days, I seemed to always be away, and although I didn't like or mean to abandon my two friends, they understood and would patiently wait for me and spend time with me when I had the time. Ron had gotten used to it and his temper didn't flare at me anymore when I had to leave abruptly. So it was okay to be really busy.

Yawning widely, I stood up and stretched, my arms reaching high into the air, feeling a tingle pass through me as the sleepiness shook out of my body. I looked up as a few papers of my notebook fluttered, losing the place I had stopped writing at. What wind had moved the pages? Looking around the room, I saw that a window was open, the slight breeze whirling into the room and causing all light things: paper, quills, and my hair— to blow around. But there was something even more unsettling than that. I glanced at the door, and a shiver of fear ran through me.

The door I had closed and heavily locked was now open.


	8. Chapter 8

_Heh...this story is really old and kindof embarassing...but someone actually cared about it, so I decided, why not update? Besides, I miss this pairing, just a tad._**  
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**WILTED CELANDINE  
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**Chapter Eight**

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_First person, Hermione's POV_

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My utter shock and fright, the way I froze when my emotions were in overload; that was my moment of weakness. I stood there, staring at the door, wondering if anyone had gotten in, whom, and why I hadn't been told of it. Fear was coursing through me so bad that I shook. One moment I stared at the door ajar, and gasped; the next moment I was wandless, pressed against someone's elses body, a fierce, firm hand grasping my neck, a strong arm holding me tightly around my waist.

I struggled and gasped wildly, kicking and yelling, the hand grasping my neck tightening after I elbowed my attacker in the stomach. But it was all futile. He had a Silencing Charm cast on the room, and before I even started screaming, the door was closed with a flick of his wand. I thrashed wildly in his arms, but soon found that the more I struggled, the tighter that hand grasped at my throat. Finally, panting, I let myself go limp against him. He let go of my neck. Groaning, only aware of the throbbing pain of my surely bruised neck, I reached my hands up to rub it gently.

I realized, after a few moments, that he was letting me move. He let me rub my neck and try to calm my tangled hair with my hands. I wasn't sure why I cared about my hair at such a moment of crisis. His arm was still around my waist, but it didn't tighten against me until I made to move a step away—then his free hand shot out and grabbed my leg, pulling it back so it rested in between his. I sighed, just remaining, leaning against him for a few moments. It was pitch black in the room. The previously open window was now shut, and in the pitch black, I could see barely anything—just a few shapes, simple outlines. I hadn't my wand in my hand—my attacker probably took it. I was alone in a dark room with a stranger. No one would notice that I was gone. None of my knowledge—spells or a thing I'd learned from books—could help me now. And worst of all, anything could happen!

I felt panic rise in my stomach, and in a desperate hope that I could get him off guard, I lunged away from my captor. But he reacted almost immediately, his reflexes amazingly quick, and one arm wrapped around my waist again, while his other hand yanked violently at my hair, making me scream again. I frowned as he pet my head affectionately. What was with this bloke?

Grumbling, I said, "You know what? You're an utter pillock. I just thought you'd like to know."

He laughed, and involuntarily I felt my heart flip. Damnit, just his _laugh_ attracted me to him. In a deep, rich voice that struck me as a fabulous singing voice, he replied, "Why thank you, lady. I would never have expected anything less polite from you."

His calling me lady immediately sparked a memory in my head. The vampire! He, too, had called me lady, and what other young man would act so formally? His old fashioned-ness was almost cute. I shuddered at the thought that I was with a vampire, so very close, and immediately wanted to leave him. Already, he had enchanted me, though. His charisma was leaving me breathless; that voice, that laughter, his gentlemanly ways, sarcasm, mysteriousness—my mind changed in a second, and suddenly I wanted to stay with him, let him hold me in his arms, and finally, finally get to understand vampires.

A minute later and I had changed my mind yet again. I had to get away. His spell was weaving its way around me, and if I stayed any longer, I might become his victim. I began to try and form an escape plan, and wondered why he hadn't done a single thing to me yet except prevent me from escaping and petted my head—fingering my ringlets affectionately—when suddenly he dragged me to the back of the classroom, and thrust me up against a wall.

It was the first time I really saw his face, although that black hood of his was still on his head. A sliver of moonlight coming from between the window curtains shone on his face. His face was feline, like a cat's, beautiful and, in a way, almost feminine. And his figure, clothed all in black beneath that horrible hooded cloak, was slender. His skin was so pale; it was awful! My fear of what he was returned in full force, and I shivered, not in cold, but in shocked horror at what was happening.

Reaching up, I pushed back his hood away from his face. The first clue was the platinum-blonde hair. Then I looked into his eyes, those deep, fathomless, and dangerous yet enchanting eyes, and I felt sick with recognition.

It was Draco.

Now that I knew who he was, his mood changed, and he became aloof and stern. Meanwhile, I felt horrified and conflicted. Draco! Draco, my student, the Slytherin I felt something other than hatred for, was a vampire?

Smirking at me, giving me that patented, disgusting Malfoy smirk, his eyes were like pools of darkness, and I realized suddenly that the darker that gaze was, the more danger I was in. His smirk meant nothing. It was his eyes that betrayed his soul, and his soul, if he had one, was not that of a human, but that of the night roaming undead.

I felt so hurt and pained, as if his being a vampire was somehow personalized torture made just for me, to threaten me. I wanted to die in that moment, realizing how dark and terrible he was, that he wasn't at all what I had hoped my Herbology student was, or could be, deep inside. I had thought of his normal attitude as a façade, and that he had a chance, a hope that he could be, and was, something more inside. He _was_ something more. But not the more I had expected. Instead of an empty vessel in which I could place hope, joy, and kindness into, his heart was as black and hard as coal.

Shuddering violently, I glared at him with the deepest loathing. I could barely breathe with the intensity of my hurt at being so betrayed by him, so lied to. I pretended to be strong, attempted to make a shield out of my anger, but inside, I wanted to cry. Panting loudly, having suddenly the hardest time at the simplest things—blinking, breathing, moving—I whispered fiercely, "Kill me."

Licking his lips, his eyes roved up and down me for but a span of seconds, and then in reply, he whispered, "Oh, yes…Yes."

He then leant down, and did what I would never have expected: he kissed me! Once again, his delicious, passionate, hungry mouth was pressed against mine, and once again, I felt a mixture of glorious pleasure, want, and freedom, as well as a torrent of pain and endless sorrow. I felt, again, that I could give him everything, that anything was worth knowing that all of his attention, his mouth, and his world, were focused on me.

I waited, whimpering, melting with need as his lips slowly, ever so slowly parted. Finally, his mouth gave my tongue entrance, and eagerly led it flicking inside towards the warm caress of his mouth. I was soon leaning against his body for support as his tongue gave mine the highest shower of bliss. Giving a last moan of pleasure as he broke the kiss abruptly, I leant back against the wall, away from him, both our chests heaving as we gasped for breath.

I gasped for an entirely different reason as, his hands gently brushing against the small of my back, he leaned in again, and gave my jaw a sensuous lick. My gratitude to him—for supporting me with his hands by pressing my back to push me towards him—was great, as, upon feeling his soft trail of kisses down my neck, I trembled and felt weak-kneed.

Then his mouth was against my neck and his arms around my waist were hugging me tightly to him, and I felt as if in a dream, a wondrous, impossible dream. But it all changed in a single moment, when he decided to use me. He used me to satiate his thirst—I was but the goblet for his crimson wine.

I could barely describe the pain, the shock, or the grimace of having been betrayed that I wore on my face and in my heart, as his teeth, sharp and long, dug into my neck in a vicious bite. I screamed, feeling as if I was screaming my heart out; I felt so utterly infected, as if by sucking my blood, his teeth that imbedded themselves in my skin leaked a fatal poison. The wrongness of it all sapped me of all my strength, and even as I lay in his arms, I could feel the energy being drained from me.

The bite was similar to his kiss. Glorious, yet horribly painful. I felt, as Annika had said, as if I was on the verge of death, and yet, I also felt as if I should cry tears of happiness, for the sensation was so undeniably _real_, and profound, and incomparable. And the gift of this sensation was being given to _me_, of all entities. I felt that this person, the owner of those teeth—I couldn't remember his name anymore, nor my own—was the most amazing, powerful person, and that if he judged me worthy of his bite then I was, indeed, worthy, and thus more bright than the sun could ever be.

I was barely aware of the blood that flowed from my punctured skin, nor his mouth greedily drinking in the liquid. My conflicting feelings and my body's instinct to protect itself were clashing, and in a flurry of confusion, all I could do was lie there—we had fallen to the floor—in agony and pleasure. Eventually my hands found their way up his chest to unclasp his cloak, and as it fell away, I slid my fingers to bury themselves in his hair. But as soon as my fingers began to massage his scalp, to, however lightly, actually touch his skin, Draco finished, and licked the last drops of blood from my neck—his tongue was so soft and hot, suddenly soothing against the wound.

Upon sitting up, Draco gave me the opportunity to return to reality and to openly ogle the half-vampire as he licked the blood from his lips and tasted the last drops from his incisors. He had…changed, somehow. It was as if disguised Slytherin had transformed into brutal vampire, as if there was actually a transformation. The differences were subtle, yet there.

His incisor teeth were a bit longer and much, much more pointed, and sharp—I shivered just looking at them. He was much more aloof, even more so than usual, and he never, ever smiled. Not even a smirk! But mostly what frightened me were his eyes. Already his eyes had the ability to make me shiver; when they clouded with shadowy darkness, they made him look even more menacing. But when he was in the vampiristic mood, feeling the Bloodlust, those eyes were inhuman, ruthless, merciless, and unforgiving.

Before he attacked a victim, and, as I found, afterwards, he seemed much more human and was as likable as ever—that is, as he'd been during his Herbology lessons with me, when I had truly, actually liked him. When he was about to, in the middle of, or just ending attacking and sucking blood from a victim though, you couldn't like him. It was impossible to feel anything towards the demoniac creature other than fear and awe. However, strangely enough, I felt more than that towards him, even when he was bloodthirsty. Because I knew that, although he was half vampire, and a psychic one at that, he was also Draco Malfoy.

And I couldn't deny that I had become quite attached to Draco Malfoy. But I had so many questions in my mind, one of them being born of my strong curiousness about the unknown: How had he become a vampire, and what other secrets did he hide?

I also wouldn't have minded knowing why he had kissed me. Vampires weren't supposed to be affectionate with their victims. I crinkled my nose at the thought that I was now a vampire victim. What an annoying label!

I attempted to sit up, as I noticed that he was looking at me, and I was about to ask a question when he asked me one first.

"What were your intentions that night you came into this classroom wearing that stunning dress?"

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	9. Chapter 9

**WILTED CELANDINE  
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**Chapter Nine**

_XOXOXOXOOXOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXO_

_First person, Draco's POV_

_XOXOXOOXXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXXOXO  
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She was taken aback, at first. My question had surprised her, gotten her off guard. Then again, this was good. Everything about me had gotten her off guard. Maybe I should say, on guard? I was unpredictable to her now. She wouldn't ever know what to expect of me anymore. This was what I wanted.

I hadn't meant to let her enrapture me so. She shouldn't have meant anything to me; she shouldn't have been anything but a satisfying meal. She should have been like the others. But she wasn't. Hermione Granger was different. She wasn't the victim.

_I_ was.

I was victim to everything about her. Anything part of or owned by Hermione was part of and owned me. She had been so beautiful to watch. I had been stalking her ever since our encounter in the forest by Hogsmeade. She had caught me. And I had sworn to myself never to be caught.

But, I told myself, it was true I was caught, but never could I be tamed, never. We might be each other victims, but she wouldn't be able to pet _this_ tiger's head. Oh no. Definitely not.

She'd been more satisfying than any other girl I'd drank from before. She wasn't a meal; she was a feast! I feasted myself not only on her sweet, delicious blood, but her body and her mind as well. The one thing I couldn't touch nor feast on was her soul. It was so strong inside of her; it was one reason her blood was so succulent—her blood was filled with her energy, the energy of her soul. I had become intoxicated by her blood, my mind, unlike all other times, focused on only her, my feast, and her blood. Usually I would have kept myself more wary than that. Even when feeding, it was best to remain careful, never underestimating, or unsuspecting.

Every time I pressed her close, her scent enfulged me, and I felt an undying bliss, as well as a soft and unbreakable despair. I hated what I was, and yet loved being myself. So all I could do was accept it, and like it. I had to. She was so vulnerable, so weak, externally, the picture of fear, just like the others. But the wild energy that emanated from her soul and thrummed through her veins, as well as the subtle, disguised, yet exotic beauty of her body…she captivated me. Even as I'd weaved my spell over her, she had somehow weaved a spell over me.

I hadn't wanted her touching me though. I didn't want her warmth destroying the satisfaction of my finally being able to drink her blood. I had wanted her for so long. She was so unattainable, so different, that it had called to me, made me want her even more. And her blood had been so satisfying, her body against mine so tender, that I hadn't wanted it to ever stop. But it had to end, eventually, as did everything—everything except the dark vortex I was in.

Hermione. She looked so beautiful lying on the floor, her hair in tangles and clothes crooked from our previous struggle and frenzied passion. As soon as my lips parted from the skin of her neck, I felt the loss, and suddenly she was distant again, once again the unattainable and confusing, weak girl, not the strong, understandable, lovely young woman that had so readily and satisfyingly given herself to me (however temporarily).

I knew that her questions would destroy my mildly content mood after the Bite, so I asked her my question before she could so much as utter a syllable. Now she sat there, staring at me, surely wondering what went on in my head, fascinated that the person before her was not human, was a _creature_, the _undead_, a_ vampire_. I hated all of those labels. I knew who I was, and had accepted what I had to do to survive, and that I was different, but I didn't like to have to have a sign above my head that pointed at me and told everyone exactly what I was. I was not just a label, an 'I'm a vampire' sign. I was Draco Malfoy! Nothing and no one could change that.

I tilted my head as she continued to stare at me blankly after I asked the question. How amusing. For once, she had no retort. The smart arse had skipped town, and for once, she was without an answer to a question. After a few minutes of this, however, the pain of gazing into her eyes and knowing that she was the only one I wanted that I could never truly own, this pain became too great.

Moving to sit beside her, I gently placed my arm over her shoulder, as if we had been friends forever, and repeated my question. Turning to give me a suspicious, still slightly blank look, she replied, "Stunning? Tell me, Draco, what was stunning? Me, or the dress?"

I would have grimaced, but instead, I frowned, and made my brows furrow in a picture of grave anger. For real though, I felt fidgety. I had had a feeling she would ask me questions instead of answer them. Why did she have to understand me, to know what I thought and why I did and said what I did? I wasn't human. She was. We weren't supposed to understand each other!

My gaze empty and neutral, I replied, "Don't answer my questions with questions…" I left the sentence unfinished. What was I supposed to call her now? Should I keep it at Granger? Or change to Hermione? NO, no, calling her by her first name was too…unfamiliar, unusual, and much too intimate. Victim? I almost laughed. What a rise I would get out of her if I began to call her something condescending, like 'victim,' 'human,' or perhaps, 'supper.'

Unfortunately, she noticed, somehow knew, that I hadn't meant to leave that sentence unfinished, and she knew _exactly_ why I had. Daring to give me a victorious, impish, and absolutely adorable little grin, she said, "Hermy. You can call me Hermy." But the façade of seriousness didn't last too long, and before I could reply she burst out laughing, both of us knowing it had been a joke—and not a very funny one. Hermy, my arse!

But then suddenly she was leaning towards me, her eyes, warm, and sweet like chocolate, staring at me. I was about to leave the room; the female was such a frustrating problem. But then she leaned in, breath hot on my mouth. Then her tongue flicked out to brush against my lips, entering my mouth slowly, teasingly, just enough so she could slide that hotness against my gradually shrinking top incisors. What on earth was she doing? Had she been seduced not only by the vampire I was, but by the Malfoy as well?

Whether her pricking her tongue against my teeth was purposeful or accidental, I didn't know. Either way, the mixture of the sensation of her tongue moving teasingly inside my mouth and the taste of her few drops of blood was exhilarating. On impulse, my tongue rose to gently meet with hers, and the drops of blood I tasted tingled, refreshing and scrumptious against my taste buds. Against my will to keep my pride intact and have her be the only one surrendering, I gave a low moan of satisfaction.

Then, almost unable to resist her temptations, I knew it was time to stop. Quickly, I pulled away from her lips, making a desk topple over in my haste. Refusing to meet her gaze I quickly grabbed my cloak from the floor, although I was sure Hermione hadn't a clue what I was doing; it was too dark for her to see anything, unless we came face to face or sat in the moonlight. For indeed, there was moonlight, and I realized then that it was almost dinnertime—seven o' clock. I would skip dinner, for I had just had mine, and now was time to cast the Memory spell and cause the Gryffindor to forget my Bite.

But as I stood up, my wand held out, sure that she wouldn't know what I was doing in the pitch black, unable to defend herself, I hesitated. I remained frozen there, not knowing what to do, for I realized that if I came back to her—and I knew it was impossible to live now without Hermione's blood—the struggling scene and her irritating rebellion and confusion would return. I hadn't been able to be satisfied by anyone else. Ever since Annika Stein, I had realized that the people I'd been attacking for two years—young virgin girls—were not appropriate anymore. My vampirism cycle had gone to the next phase, and now, it seemed, Hermione was the only one who could satisfy me. As the book "_Metamorphoses and Definitions of __Acerbus Mortifera__" _had said, due to my circumstances and unusual kind of vampirism, only one 'victim' would be able to satisfy me now.

I realized then, with a kind of dull horror, that I had unknowingly chosen Hermione Granger as my victim, my slave…my Eternal Blood Doner until Phase 4 of my vampirism—if I ever reached that stage. As I pulled my cloak back on, and pocketed my wand, I couldn't help but wonder what Hermione would think of that. Would both of us be able to accept the way twisted Fate had entwined our life together?

__

It had been seven days since I'd given Hermione the Bite. I felt extremely sick. I had just won a Quidditch match, and had been congratulated a thousand times over by my fellow Slytherins, but I didn't feel good at all. Who cared about a bloody Quidditch match? Ravenclaw was easier to beat every year; especially since that Chang girl had quit last year, after some bloke had dumped her, and of course Chang had been shedding Snitch-sized tears ever since.

I was glad Crabbe, Goyle, and my fellow Slyth mates had changed out of their Quidditch uniforms and gone to dinner a few minutes early. I wanted to be alone. Groaning, I dropped my broom to the floor with a clatter, and slowly peeled my sodden clothes off. The clouds had decided to match my mood today, baring their lightning teeth, and giving us animal-haters an unwelcome shower of bloody cats and dogs.

The hot water of the shower soothed me slightly, and caused me to stop shivering. It loosened my muscles and helped me to take the few deep breaths I needed. Suddenly I heard the clunk of the door to the locker room being closed, and I quickly turned off the water and went to curl up in a corner of the shower cubicle. Who was here?

I leaned my head back and stared up at the ceiling, dully interested. I was too exhausted and depressed to be bothered by the intruder's interruption. But I almost sighed as I recognized the voices. Potter. And…Hermione. Apparently, Scarface was looking for a daily planner…obviously a gift from Hermione; who else would give him something so swotty?

"'Mione, that notebook is nowhere!"

"That's not true, Harry, the thing's around here somewhere. Seamus said that whatever his name is, this guy that he lent your notebook to, left it in his locker. But it's not in there so it's probably lying around this smelly locker room somewhere!"

"Maybe he took it with him."

"Well, I don't know. How about you go back to talk to Seamus about it? Chew him out for letting someone else borrow it—you lent it to him thinking he'd be responsible! I'll continue looking and come back in a few minutes if I don't find it."

There was an odd silence, then Potter replied, "But…Hermione, I, er…I don't want to leave you in a boy's locker room!"

"Oh don't be so paranoid, Harry, it's not like there's anyone _in_ here or anything!"

"Well, it's just that…I…er, well, okay I guess, but come back soon if you don't find it!"

I suppose she nodded, for a few seconds later and the sound of Potter's feet clomping away was gone. I was glad that I was hidden in the corner and behind a curtain, and also glad that what they were looking for wouldn't be in a shower, because I desperately wanted to leave and get away from _her_ soon, and it would go well as long as I wasn't found. The conversation that I'd listened in on hadn't been at all interesting; stupid Potter thought he could always trust all his Housemates, was all. Hermione…no, _Granger_, had only come to help him because the notebook had been given to Scarface by her.

There were only two locker rooms—one for Slytherin and Ravenclaw, one for Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Why each House couldn't have its own locker room, I had always wondered. I guess Dumbledore focused more on the castle and the forest than anything else around the Hogwarts property.

Potter's notebook—to be used for writing down assignments and homework in, but instead filled with cartoon scribbles—was wrapped up in my clothes. I had come upon it while the Ravenclaw that had borrowed it was probably in the shower. I had felt nauseous and decided to sit down, and when I noticed Potter's name on the front left corner, I got curious. I wondered what random doodles Potter spent drawing during Potions. The Gryffindor was so stupid. But then another wave of nausea had come over me, and I had stuffed the notebook in my bundle of clean clothes. Now that I had heard Potter frantically looking for it—his drawings and writings were probably the private kind that could easily embarrass Potter if anyone saw them—the fact that I had it was all the more amusing.

Although there wasn't half a chance I'd be found, I held my breath anyway as Granger walked by. But I made the mistake of exhaling loudly, and she must have heard, or wanted to inspect the area closer, for she came by again. I remained still as a statue as she stood right nearby the shower curtain, paralyzed, not by fear, but by the scent of her blood…

Immediately the Bloodlust started to creep onto me like a raging demon, and I stifled a cough as suddenly my throat became dry, and my tongue swept over my dry lips in an attempt to lessen the torture of sudden hunger. Bugger, I needed a drink so badly! Her scent made me suffer further as the curtain ruffled as she sat down, sighing.

It was almost more than I could take. I realized that if I didn't get away soon, I would bite her again, and perhaps wouldn't be able to hold myself in anymore. If I bit her now, people would notice her absence, for she had told Potter she would be back in a few minutes, and dinner began quite soon. I was too thirsty to be able to take a drink in a matter of one or two minutes. I stood up to grab my towel that I had hung over the shower wall, and wrapping it around my waist tightly, I decided to reveal my presence. I pushed the curtain aside.

I was about to speak, but she jumped when the curtain moved, and her shoulder bumped my chin, hard. Swearing, I rubbed it, as she stared at me, wide eyed. Glowering, I met gazes with her momentarily, and then walked past her to my locker. Getting my clothes, I went to stand at the other side of the locker room. It was a huge room. She couldn't see me; the lockers were blocking her view. Nevertheless, I called out, "Leave, or stay there and don't come over here; I'm changing."

I had just slid my trousers over my hips when a sneeze came on to me. I pinched my nose to stop it, and then sniffed. But that was my mistake. For in sniffing, I got a whiff of the scent of Hermione's blood again. And the Bloodlust was so strong that I almost dropped on the spot. Shit, it had never been so powerful! It was a raging tsunami inside me, ordering me to clamp my teeth on the nearest human flesh, to drink and drink and drink the hot, dark, gushing blood…Oh god, I wanted to bite her so badly, to taste her blood again…_Now_ I was hungry!

Hermione made the mistake of walking over as she heard my groan of frustration. _No, you stupid girl! I'm not in pain, leave! Get out of here, quick, now!_ My brain screamed at her, as, holding my head in my hands, I dropped to kneel on the floor, absentmindedly glad I was at least half clothed when the girl walked up to me.

She sat beside me, staring, most likely not daring to touch me, as I twisted and writhed, hissing as the vampiristic urges came over me, and I slid into the hunting mode. But I had no need to hunt. My dinner was sitting right beside me, defenseless in the face of my bloodthirstiness. My breath hitching, I finally stopped shuddering, and lifted up my head.

Her eyes were wide, wetness making her dark irises seem to glow. My eyes roved up and down her figure. She was so delicate, so healthy and…delicious looking. Not only did I want her blood, but I wanted her body as well. I wanted to touch her soft skin, to tightly grip her wrists, and have her figure squirm under me as I sunk my teeth into that magnificent neck, her full, luscious lips parting in soft gasps.

But she would never succumb to my enticements, never let herself be lured into darkness. It was hopeless. I flinched as her hand landed on my shoulder, and giving me an even stare, she said, "Draco, I want to ask you questions. I want to know—"

"Everything," I said, closing my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at her anymore. "You want to know everything. Of course you do, you crazy bitch. You can't live without knowing everything. The more knowledge packed into your head, the more oblivious you are to what you don't want to see."

Her hand became limp, sliding from my shoulder only to remain on my arm. She wasn't aware of it anymore, but simply stared at me in disbelief. I didn't give a damn whether what I said was true, but I didn't want her touching me! Shaking off her hand, I became unnerved under her stare. It seemed to pierce my skull and want to peer into my mind and pick all the facts from my brain. She wanted to know all about me. And there was no way I could stop her.

"Alright," I said, "I'll make you a bargain."

I sat there waiting for her reaction. For a few moments, silence, and then she broke her stare with me, looking at the floor, and answered, "Okay. Yes. I'll accept the bargain. Anything! I want to know about you. I think you…" she paused, taking a deep breath, as if saying it would puncture her lungs. "You need someone."

I ignored that statement. No way was I going to answer that. Besides, she was wrong. I didn't need anyone! I just needed blood. Her blood. It was my only way of surviving. But I didn't need her. I didn't need _her_. No!

"Okay. Here's the bargain: I'll tell you everything. About me, my past, anything you want to know. But you'd better ask the right questions. Probe all you want. Get your nosy urges all out, because once this is over, you won't be able to ask any more questions. You hear me?"

"Yes. What do you want in return?"

"I want…" My throat felt so dry. I was parched. Damnit, she'd better ask fast! I was so thirsty…

"You, you are mine. That's what I want."

She raised a brow at me, trying, yet failing, to hide her worry. "I refuse to be your slave. That's not worth getting answers to my questions."

I groaned inwardly, mentally. She didn't understand! I didn't want her obeying my every whim. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl! Damn it, why was this the one thing her brain couldn't cope with? Why couldn't she understand me? Fucking human.

"Listen girl. You're _already_ mine. I don't want you as a slave. But you're mine now. You're connected with me, whether you like it or not. You happened to be in that room at the same time as me, and you got the Bite, alright? That Bite isn't given to just anybody, damnit!" She still looked confused.

"Okay, shut up, don't give me that look," I continued. "Listen. I don't understand why you don't know this already but…" I took a deep breath.

"I have a cycle. A vampire cycle. I'm not…not that vampires ever are, but…I'm not normal, okay? I'm psychic; a psychic vampire. That doesn't mean I read your mind though! It means something else. Anyway…damnit, I hate having to explain things, especially to you, a smart arse!"

"Okay, here's what I'm trying to say: My Bite made you belong to me. You're already mine. It's part of my cycle; I'm at phase three. This means that I can't choose any random girl anymore…I had to choose someone, to bite the person who would be my blood donor, and you were it. I didn't mean to choose you.

"It was an accident. But you're caught up in my life, and that's your problem now. I just need you to…promise me something. You can't run away. You can't hide. It's useless. I didn't mean to choose you, but I have to deal with the consequences of my mistake, alright? So just accept that we're….we have a special bond. And don't tell anyone, don't run, and whatever you do, _don't get rebellious_. So, that's our bargain. I'll answer your questions and tell you everything, and in return you don't run away, rebel, or tell anyone about me."

My hand was around her wrist—she'd never moved it far enough away from me—holding it tightly, and my gaze was firm and serious. I made sure she understood how drastic the situation was.

"Okay," she replied, "It's a bargain. Besides, it seems like I don't have a choice anyway! I'm stuck with you for a while no matter what. Now tell me…question number one…oh, wait. How long is our bargain going to hold? When do we break it?"

I raged inside, while outwardly, I was the picture of calm.

She still didn't understand!

_XOXOOXOXOXOXOXXOOXOXOXOXOXOX_


	10. Chapter 10

_Don't even ask why I switched from points of view AND from first to third person...*sigh* I was young. That's my excuse._**  
**

**WILTED CELANDINE  
**

**Chapter Ten**

_XOXOXOXOXOXXOXOOXXOXOXOXO_**  
**

_Third person, Hermione's POV_

_XOXOXOXOXOXOOXXOXOOXOXOXXOOXX  
_

Hermione watched warily as Draco bit his lip, in what she supposed was frustration. She decided to quickly get on to the bargain and ask the questions about his past; the things she really wanted to know. She would deal with the bargain—his side of it—afterwards. She was afraid he would refuse to answer her questions if she waited any longer. Besides…the teeth she could see biting his lip were…unusually long and sharp looking…

Hastily scooting to sit in front of the half-vampire, as he buttoned his trousers and donned a shirt, Hermione asked, "So? Tell me how it all began. When you became…what you are," her voice began cracking with nervousness, "and…etcetera."

Rolling his eyes, Draco replied, "Typical. Just typical. You want to know every bitty detail about my childhood. Like a reporter!" His hands were waving wildly as he spoke.

But suddenly, a strange calm came over Draco. He became solemn, chin resting on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, staring at the floor, without quite seeing it. "I've been a half-vampire for all my life. I was born this way. I thought _you_, of all people, would have realized that by now. Half-vampires are born vampires. My father…" There was a long pause, in which Hermione feared prodding him to continue, and yet also feared his continuation.

Finally, Draco took a deep breath to continue. "My father is a vampire. His mother was forced to become one, and was…sexually assaulted. My own mother is half human, and half Veela. So I'm….a half-breed of sorts, you could say. An outcast from humanity."

Hermione felt a sharp pang in her heart at his words. No wonder the boy was so private, so harsh. He lived a world of pain, never quite feeling like he fit in, not sure if he ever really wanted to. She nodded, showing that she was listening. Talking about this, and to her of all people, was obviously difficult for Draco.

"Scientifically, the way it all works is this: I do breath, like humans. I'm half human, after all. But I don't breathe because I need oxygen. That's where the paleness comes from—lack of oxygen. Blood is my oxygen, makes me able to breathe, it makes me able to survive. When I don't drink blood, some of it is stored away, so I can still breathe, but not as well as after having dinner."

Hermione shuddered, as Draco gave a feral grin. Dinner to him was drinking blood. She wondered how many other scientific differences there were between her and him, species-wise. She decided not to ask, and just to let him continue. It seemed to make him more comfortable if he could simply talk and have her listening.

"It all began when I was five. I was such a bloody innocent. A total prissy. But the Manor was dark and lonely. I liked to explore, to touch things I shouldn't. I kept on breaking things. In fact," that laughter, low and rich, yet tinged with sourness, echoed, as he said, "I think little Draco was quite the spastic. Anyway, I was punished a lot for my naïveté. My curiousity always got the better of me. I was intelligent, yet spoiled, and a little too caged in. My mother coddled me, and I always got what I wanted—except when I wanted to go somewhere, or find something new. I always liked to touch new things, and when I couldn't touch them, I asked questions about them. I suppose that's a thing about being a psychic half-vampire…we're known to get a little touchy-feely.

"I was always sent to the dungeons for punishment. Often times, instead of waiting at the gate in between the dank horrors and our dusty cellar, I would explore the dungeons. My explorations weren't stumbles in the dark—I could see perfectly fine. One day I found this tunnel blocked up by boulders—it had caved in. My vampirism helped me there. I could almost say it doomed me, too, in a way. My excess strength helped me get past the boulders and into the tunnel, where there was a pool of water…"

There was another pause again, and Hermione sneaked a quick look at Draco. His eyes were clouded with thoughtfulness, eerie in their vacancy. He drawled on, "The pool was…fascinating. It was definitely magical. I was so curious about it…drawn to it. It was so…clean. Sparkling with such purity, unlike anything I'd ever seen. It was like an oasis in a desert. It didn't belong in the darkness, yet it was there, beautiful and pure, a beacon of light. I stood by it, looking in, leaning…"

Draco suddenly seemed to have problems breathing. Closing his eyes, he sat there for a minute, coughing, before resuming his tale. His voice pitched even lower now, morbid and frightening in its gloominess. "I leant too far, and fell in. The water consumed me. I didn't know how to swim; I still don't. It was so…I didn't think I was going to die. Death didn't scare me. But the thought of _not_ dying scared me. I was afraid I would remain there forever, limp and helpless, suffocating, on the verge of death, yet not dying, an ounce of strength left—but not enough to stop myself from sinking.

"It was a dark abyss, unending, deeper than the middle of the ocean, for all I knew. It was almost like a well. It had that sort of shape, I think. The pool was magical. I found out soon after what it had done to me, how it had…cursed me.

"The pool gave whoever was submerged in it, or touched the water, I'm not sure what exactly one had to do, touch it, swallow it, be submerged in it, I don't know—I did all of those. But the effect it had was to give that person whatever it was they didn't have, and to give it to them in abundance, to the extreme. I had happiness, and sadness, and loneliness in my heart. I had wealth, parents, a home, and clothes. You could say that I had everything. But I was a young child. There is one thing children don't feel, one thing I didn't have…"

Draco turned away from Hermione. She almost thought, for a moment, that he was crying, for his body shook slightly, and before he turned away, his eyes sparkled wetly. But no teardrop came, nor sniffles. She couldn't see his face, but she felt pain well up inside her for him; she felt as if his pain, his sad tale, his life, his identity, all would burst her, shred her to pieces.

"Yes. There was one thing I didn't have…"

Draco turned back to her, and his gaze was the most fearsome, angered, vicious thing Hermione had ever looked upon. His agony was so palpable, his look not denying any emotion for once, the intensity of it so _profound_, so horridly real. Then he answered, told her what he didn't have, what that magical water had cursed him with…

"Sex desire."

There was no word to describe Hermione's feelings, her reaction. Astonished, shocked, terrified, sympathetic, confused, crushed, and astounded were understatements. The revelation, this pure and torturous _exposure_, it was hurting her, Hermione actually found it both physically, and mentally painful.

And she knew Draco felt it a million times more than she.

"Draco…" Hermione closed her eyes, consumed by fear. What would he do to her for having asked such questions, for making him reveal the hideousness of his pain, the darkness of his spool of secrets?

"What does that mean?"

For a moment, not even a second, the pain went away, and genuine surprise lit Draco's features. It seemed he expected her to know everything, to understand so much. But she didn't. Hermione was smart, but her mind was not flawless. The fact that he expected so much knowledge of her brain was frightening; for he had respected her only for her knowledge, when she had taught him private tutoring lessons. His shock was so great that it showed, for a fleeting moment. But then the grimness returned.

"It means that I feel the fire of need raging inside me every moment. It means that every step forward hurts more than the last. It means that a person's slightest gesture or movement can inflame me with lust. It means that I've popped more cherries than you could imagine.

"It means that I haven't been a virgin since…well, a long time. It means I get so easily aroused, or weak, that sometimes I…c-can't breathe well. And I don't care who it is. I know that I drain their energy, that I'm using people. But it's uncontrollable, incurable. I'm cursed. I'm not all human. If I have to drink blood to eat, I will. If I have to seduce someone and use my body just to have enough energy to stand up, to breathe, to wake up each day…I will. It's my only way of surviving. I have to."

Then Draco promptly stood up and walked out of the locker room, shoving Harry's studying planner notebook into Hermione's hands before he left. She stood there, stunned and immobile, before standing up and rushing to try and catch Draco and ask him one more question before he reached the castle.

Hermione never did get to ask Draco her question. Instead, she had to quickly go to the bathroom and make sure she didn't look as horrible as she felt, and then go to dinner. Quickly squeezing in between Harry and Ron, for a while, all was normal, and she read a book while Ron stuffed his face and Harry talked to Ginny about Quidditch.

But then page 225 began to blur in front of Hermione's eyes, and in an attempt to fix her tear-swept vision she had to quickly and inconspicuously rub her eyes—she added a yawn to the pretense, just to make it look totally real in case someone was looking. When she looked up, she found her gaze immediately pulled towards the Slytherin table.

The bunch of emerald-clad students were focusing all their attention on Draco, who shouted some inaudible words in praise of some sort. Then all Slytherins raised their mugs and tons of clinks of goblet against goblet were heard in a toast. Hermione watched with mixed feelings as many Slytherins drank quickly after the toast, whereas some banged their goblets loudly in giddiness.

Draco simply took a sip of the drink and then placed his goblet back on the table after the toast. Eventually he lifted it up again, tipping it back and forth, laughing as he and a few fellow Slytherins traded joking antics. Hermione stared at the half-vampire dully. Could he even taste the drink? How could he stand to eat and drink things every single day, while all he really needed to survive was sex and blood? The thought made her feel nauseous, and tossing away her blueberry muffin Hermione scurried out of the Great Hall, searching for the nearest toilet to throw up in.

After what seemed like a half hour of leaning over the toilet and retching horribly, Hermione flushed it and walked up to a sink. It was at times like this she wished she wasn't so busy. Myrtle wasn't there to help her find a way to make the old sink taps work, and she was too exhausted to rack her brain for the proper spell.

Hermione shrieked as, upon looking into the mirror, she realized that there was another reflection besides hers there. She quietly accepted the handkerchief he offered her, but then, after wiping her mouth, quickly tossed it away in disgust—who knew what it had been used to wipe away before. Blood, perhaps. Her terrified scream was cut off as his hand clamped over her mouth tightly, and as his arm moved to hold her against him, she could do nothing. For a few moments, she stared at his reflection looking back at her, those eyes dark with malevolence, his very presence an unstoppable, fierce wickedness.

She couldn't repress a shudder as a growl came deep from Draco's throat, and he opened his mouth wide to reveal to her his teeth. Hermione watched in morbid fascination, as those incisors gradually grew longer and sharper, becoming vampiristic, fang-like. She thought he was going to bite her, have his meal by drinking her blood like a demoniac glutton. But she thought wrong.

His fingers crept underneath her jumper and her blouse. Hermione sucked her breath in and exhaled it out in loud, panting gasps, goosebumps prickling up her arms as his cold fingers slid against her skin. She closed her eyes, gulping in deep breaths, as his hand slid out from under her shirt to glide up her torso. Then the most forbidden contact was made as he made no effort to hide his lust, fingertips grazing her chest with the lightest touch.

A tiny sigh escaped Hermione's lips, and in the heat of embarrassment that flushed her skin, she almost wished Draco had paused a moment more to untie the bow at the neck of her blouse. But then Hermione quickly reprimanded herself; that would leave her even more open to more illicit touching. She wondered suddenly if there was any way of escaping him, if she could convince him to spare her by using his lust for her—which was not allowed for a vampire to feel in regards to his victim—as a trap.

But she decided she couldn't, just couldn't, do that. Hermione tried to summon the courage, but knew not how to go about seducing a vampire, what to speak of seducing a vampire and then tricking him and escaping in the end. In her desperation, Hermione's hands flailed, and she accidentally let a hand lie on her captor's belt.

His eyes sparkling with an unusual glint, Draco murmured, "Oh? So you, too, can't deny your feelings of desire?" Shaking her head vigorously, Hermione groaned in protest as, wand pointed at her, the half-vampire began to one-handedly unbuckle his belt. Hermione decided to take a huge risk. Not one to be forced into something, she quickly moved to knee Draco in the groin before running away.

She felt cowardly, frightened, and despairing. There was no real way to escape. Ultimately, she would have to confront the half-vampire, and herself. She had to decide what it was she wanted, and where her heart truly lay.

__


	11. Chapter 11

_I think this was the first time I ever wrote about vampires. Thank god I got better at it later. Please check out my Twilight fanfics! Those ones are so much more fun._**  
**

**WILTED CELANDINE  
**

**Chapter Eleven**

_XOXOOXOXOXOXOOXXOXOOXOXXO_**  
**

_First person, Draco's POV_

_XOXOXOXOOXOXXOXOOXXOOXXOXOXOO  
_

I awoke to pain, and suffocation. It was an asthmatic feeling, as if a pillow was being held over my face, and had been so for a long time. My ribs would surely crack if my lungs pressed against them any harder. I wasn't sure if I had lungs anymore. For I could barely breathe.

Then, suddenly, it was as if a needle sunk into my skin, and air and energy was pumped into me. I sat up with a gasp, coughing wildly, my hand immediately flying to press against my chest. The locket was still there.

Opening my eyes, I felt as if the world was spinning around me. Nausea swept over me, and my eyelids fluttered as exhaustion returned. I sunk back down onto the hospital bed, intense hunger parching my throat and chapping my lips. Something was swirling in my mind…a memory of some sort…

Hermione! I had been fully prepared to take her then and there, so desperate and weak I had been. I had lost my reasoning and followed her when the opportunity came, and had cornered her in the bathroom. Her defiance had only decreased my energy more, and if she had paused at all before escape, she would have seen my revealed weakness as I blacked out.

If I was human, I would surely have been coughing up blood upon waking up just now. Why else would vampires drink the stuff? Why else would we be so pale? We were bloodless, a race of demons roaming the earth in disparity, unwilling to give up our fight for survival—although we had already lost our lives.

I wished I could die. Many a time I had wished I could, barely resisted the urge to cut a stake and stab it through me myself. Waiting for vampire hunters was too pitiful. They were sluggish and rough, only the smartest and most experienced able to spot us at first sighting. If we were minions of the devil that walked the earth, then surely they were angels fallen from heaven that God had spit on, unworthy of the lives they owned, nor of their ability to die.

Sometimes, as happened now, a great depression swept through me. Hunger and lust had that effect on me, when intense enough. I became too weak to mask myself anymore, and let my instinct and emotions be bared to the world. I groaned in agony as memories of faces flashed through my mind; they were the faces of victims. Younger, older, teenagers, adults, pre-teens; ugly, pretty, beautiful, gorgeous; frightened, defiant, confused, shocked…All of them female. All of them simply meals.

None of them as captivating or spirited as Hermione Granger.

She haunted me. The taste of her blood on my tongue, her scent around me, figure against me, lips against mine, heart entranced by something deep inside me that linked us to each other.

This something wasn't so much deep inside me, as in my locket. I had had the blue-painted glass locket for as long as I could remember. It was the only thing I cherished more than my existence, for inside it was…my secret. My treasure. The only thing powerful and yet at the same time fragile enough to be able to destroy me forever.

Consciousness hit me again. I had fallen back into sleep after first gaining consciousness, and now I opened my eyes to light. Light! How long had I been lying here, the curtains open, revealing me to the fatal rays of the sun?

No wonder I felt so weak. When I had woken up before it had been night, and now it was late morning. Half-vampire I was, and thus able to stand the sun, but after a certain amount of time, the sun could be my doom. It would kill not my soul, but my body. I already felt a bit less solid as it was.

Sitting up, I breathed in raggedly, chest heaving with the effort of gulping in so much air. I felt on the verge of death. Prickling in the back of my mind was a bomb. The slightest something could cause it to explode. But I wasn't sure what part of me that something would effect, or what exactly that something was.

Suddenly, her face flashed in my mind.

Hermione.

The first scream of many ripped from out my throat, and that was when the sanity began to ebb away…

There was a disturbance in the air. Something called me, beckoned for Draco Malfoy to awake. _No_, I told it, _no, no. I don't want to awaken. No more suffering. Don't allow it to touch me again. Don't allow it to drown me. Never make me open my eyes. Never. Never. No. Don't do it! Stop forcing me. No, no, never, never, never_

"NEVER!"

I opened my eyes, and in a moment, my world was turned upside down. My hands were raised to my head, palms pressed against my temples. My torso glistened with sweat, my head slick with it. There was a voice screaming, screaming over and over again. The voice was my own.

I couldn't seem to control my mouth. I remained stiff, sitting on my hospital bed still, white blankets tangled around me in chaos, Professors lining my bed like sentries. The horror before me was myself. The mirror.

The mirror.

Propped at the foot of my bed, showing to me my own figure sitting on the bed, and my face contorted in agony and a fury born of torment and unending desecration, was a mirror. It was at least partly the cause of my screams, and of the chaos that swirled around me. I was weaker than I ever had been, and I was flying out of control. My mind didn't seem able to control any part of me. I was aware of the situation, wanted to stop screaming, for I was so exhausted, but my voice couldn't seem to stop.

Abruptly I closed my eyes, and in relief found my ability to control, and stopped screaming. Finally I let my hands slide down to clutch at my white blankets, and I sat there, breathing raggedly, finally in control of myself again. I had survived the horror that was my reflection. I had stared back at those flashing silvery eyes, the face of a demon, and had survived to take control again.

The crowd dispersed, the worried looks fading away, reassured at my new silence. I had noticed that the Headmaster wasn't there with the rest of them. That was when I first knew something was wrong. Then I clutched at my chest, for the locket.

But it was gone.

I knew immediately who had taken it, and who had begun to unravel my spool of dark secrets. My victim. My addiction. My lust's focus. My hunger's ultimate quencher.

Hermione.

It all came back to her, in the end. Always.


	12. Chapter 12

**WILTED CELANDINE  
**

**Chapter Twelve**

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXOXOOXOXX  
_

_First person, Hermione's POV_

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXO  
_

The screaming. It had gone on for what seemed forever. Ever since he had woken up this morning, the demon, the half-vampire, had been screaming. It was horrifying.

I felt like my head would split. Even when not near enough to the hospital wing to hear the raving screams of Draco, the sound echoed in my mind. I knew that I was the cause of his pain, and of his hopelessness. Never had his existence seemed so bleak.

How did I know this? Because I knew him. In the middle of the night I had crept into the hospital wing, and listened to the bloodsucker's mumbled nightmares. He was born from pain, death, and ruthlessness, and yet he lived those horrors each day and night. My heart was beginning to become frozen. I feared that it would soon become as rock-hard as his, for the darkness encased in that demon was seeping into me. It was almost as if his Bite really had poisoned me.

But I had found what I knew to be important. A locket that I only glanced at once before, in the locker room, had hung around his neck on a silver chain. It was an oval shaped locket, made of glass, painted a light, peaceful, sky blue color. Deceiving. It belied his true nature. Upon carefully opening it—with much difficulty to find the proper charm to unlock such powerful magic—I found inside it no pictures, nought but a simple sprig of a plant.

Yet I had recognized the healthy, blooming flower for what it was immediately. Celandine. The four petals, formed in the shape of a cross, appeared to be, at first glance, a member of the order _Cruciferce_. But in fact it was not. This plant, related to Poppies, was highly poisonous, fatal unless treated soon after poisoning. Any contact with the orange juice, which comes from the Celandine stem or leaves, and the acrid, powerful irritant works its terrors.

This plant had been used in Potions class earlier this semester! Goyle had accidentally knocked my potion on me, and immediately my skin had reacted to the Celandine poison. My eyes widened in surprise at the remembrance. How ironic.

Celandine had begun this change in my life, this sudden involvement with Draco Malfoy, the half-vampire who had managed to make me hate and simultaneously become entranced by him. Perhaps Celandine could mend the situation, too? It could be just the cure I had been searching for.

The question was, the cure to what? To the magnetic way I felt linked to Draco Malfoy? To the stirring in my heart that said I couldn't let go of his tortured soul? The sudden entrancement and need to associate with Draco, and help him solve his problem?

I hoped desperately that it would be the cure to all of these things. Or at least to what made me regret feeling any of them.

I awoke with a quick jolt, wondering how I had managed not to hear my alarm ring. No wait, not alarm. No digital clock. That was only for at home. I was at Hogwarts, so that meant my wake up call was instead a consistent beeping noise spell that my wand would put into effect at a certain tick of the dormitory clock. But that hadn't been what had woken me up.

Hastily shoving the hair from my face, I sat up, and promptly let out a startled yell. _OUCH!_ A sharp pang of pain had shot across my torso when I had done that, and the light brush of my cotton pajamas against my back hurt for some reason. And…wait…why was I in the hospital wing?

Waving my hand, I soon got Madam Pomfrey to stop at the foot of my bed, and that was when I asked her, "Excuse me? What happened? Why I am I here?"

"Why, Miss Granger, I would think you would remember! Two of your fellow Housemates found you unconscious in a little corner of the library. You just happened," here she tsk-ed loudly, "to have opened a very dangerous book. From the Restricted Section, of all places! You somehow managed to unlock the gigantic old thing, apparently, but the warding spells, being a bit rusty, seemed to have caught you off guard and hit you all at once."

Taking this all in quickly with a simple nod, I asked, "What are my ailments, Ma'am, and when can I get out?"

"A broken bone in your wrist, a horrible gash on your poor back, and several awful bruises. Perhaps a twisted ankle, too. You're lucky it wasn't anything more than a disarming spell. You would be ready to go out by now, but I've been so busy with your neighbor that I haven't had time to even make your healing potions, talk about letting you take them and having you sit and wait a few hours. I decided to simply let you rest and focus instead on young Malfoy over there."

I blinked as the woman walked over to the bed to my right, pulling closed my curtains and, I supposed from the rattling noise, pulling open another patient's curtains. I almost groaned in aggravation. Here I was stuck in the hospital wing, valuable time being wasted, and I was stuck next to the very person I had been trying to avoid and not think about.

Unable to hold back my curiousity, I stood up on my bed with great difficulty, and looked over to see what Malfoy, whom I had dubbed "Noisy Bloodsucking Ferret," was up to. I hadn't expected to see him healthy, of course, but had at least expected him back to his usual nasty, condescending Slytherin self.

However, I got quite a surprise. The half-vampire looked very pale—paler than usual, I mean—and his eyes were closed in this oddly solemn, calm way. One hand tightly clutched the blankets, and the other set down the bottle of medicine he'd just been forced to gulp, before brushing back his silvery hair from his face.

Yes. Brushing back his hair from his face. For once, the git was without his gel, and had lost the slick, sleek, I'm-a-nasty-Slytherin-you'd-better-beware look. But he was still a prissy pretty-boy. Oh yes. The way his platinum-blonde locks fell gracefully against his scalp as he brushed them away, the way his long lashes contrasted beautifully with his silvery eyes. And his face was so _perfect_, so utterly flawless. It was almost frightening that this boy could have such beauty.

I reminded myself sharply that his beauty was only physical. Inside he was dark and wicked. _No more wasting thought on that rascal, Hermione,_ I told myself sharply. But then I found my gaze wavering back to his eyes. How intense they were, so unreadable…his irises were bright yet also contained a glint of something sinister. They were like liquid fire…

I squeaked as suddenly I realized that he had been watching me almost the entire time. Every glance of mine stare at his eyes had been his gaze locking on me. Quickly I fell back onto a lying down position on my bed, groaning loudly as the pain shot through me again in yet another spasm.

It was dusk, the sun's feeble rays barely falling through the windows anymore. Madam Pomfrey was finished checking on all her patients—I surmised that it was only I and the half-vampire—and all was quiet. _Too quiet_, I thought, barely brave enough to laugh at my own lame joke. I had watched _way_ too many Muggle movies during the summer.

I lay there for what seemed eternity, waiting for something to happen, wanting peace, yet also unable to not be filled with anticipation. I _wanted_ something to happen, I admitted. This was one of my only times at the hospital wing, and I had only been awake for a half hour or so, yet already realized how boring it was. I was so used to being busy, yet here I was with so much time. My mind, of course, was totally blank as of what to do. There was absolutely no source of entertainment, or even something to study or read, available.

I sighed loudly, looking up as the curtain was pushed aside, and the half-vampire came to sit on my bed. For some reason, I wasn't afraid. I wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it was because I felt that, since I had gone through the worst of it, there wasn't much left that was unexpected. Or it could have been because I had stolen what was dear to him and thus had the advantage. Then again, maybe I was confident because I felt I knew him well now.

I suddenly realized how foolish I was, as he leaned in, his eyes boring into mine, one hand on my shoulder. I wasn't near as frightened as before, yet apprehension still filled me. Draco Malfoy was still unpredictable. Suddenly I remembered the bite, and the kisses, and I didn't want him near me anymore. I didn't want to feel that conflict take over my concentration again, and I didn't want to experience any more pain.

I made sure not to blink as he stared at me down the length of his nose. Then his fingers tugged lightly on the chain around my neck, pulling my silver cross from underneath my white hospital robes. He pulled it up closer to his eyes to gaze at it in the slight light. I watched as his fingers, so long and aristocratic, twisted the tiny sterling silver cross around and around. Crosses had no effect against vampires; from what I had read, that was a myth, just as holy water and garlic being effective also was myth.

My eyes widened as he bent down to bite the chain, the cross momentarily in his mouth before he slipped it into his pocket. Grinning at me, he whispered, "In exchange for what you stole from me, I'm taking this. It's only fair."

How dare he! My mother had given that cross to me, and I had kept it close to my heart for many years. It was important, and he thought he could just take it from me like that? How dare he claim that it was fair! It was _not_! His locket and Celandine were replaceable! My cross, a sincere gift, almost able to be called a family heirloom, was not!

I was about to open my mouth and give him a piece of my mind, when Malfoy—I refused to see him as the likable 'Draco' I had taught Herbology lessons to—put a finger to my mouth. Brushing a curl of hair from my forehead with his other hand, he whispered, "Ssshh. You don't need a voice for this."

Did I even want to know what he meant? A voice for _what_? Just as I contemplated biting his finger and then berating him as well as asking him to be decent and start making sense, I felt something tickle my chest. Sitting up, I realized that Malfoy was dangling the broken chain that had held my cross right at my neckline, about to drop it down into my robes. I grabbed his hand in protest, but was a moment too late. The tickle of metal slid down my skin as the chain fell into my robes. Frowning, I shot Malfoy a glare, and stood up to try and shake the thing out of my clothes.

Unfortunately, the hospital robes were quite complicated. Instead of being simple like our ordinary school robes, there was a tight cloth wrapped around my body—almost like a strapless dress—and then over that was a normal pair of robes. However, over _that_ was a coat, which, instead of being normal, had the two sleeves, separated, and tied to close at the front and back. Malfoy had made sure that the chain got stuck in between two layers of clothing—the under cloth, and the normal robe, stuck at my waistline by the silly coat thing.

Repressing a shriek of anger, I wiggled around in quite a silly way, trying to shake the chain out, probably looking much like a dancing baboon of sorts. I could see that Malfoy was shaking in muffled laughter, and this angered me even more. I gasped as the chain slid down to an extremely uncomfortable position, and quickly wiggled a bit more to force it away from the area. I began to despair however, as I found that having the coldness against my thigh was no improvement in comfortableness.

Finally, after three or so minutes, I gave up, and grumbling quietly, I sat down, feet dangling off the edge of the bed. My harsh glare stopped Malfoy from further teasing me, and instead he obeyed my unvoiced commands and untied the coat for me. I had just got the robe over my head, and stood wearing nought but a tightly fitting thin cloth wrapped snugly around me, when I realized Malfoy was still there, and was looking at me.

The wretched boy! Vampiristic or not, he was just as insensitive, disrespectful, and hormonal as any adolescent male. I raised a hand to slap him, but he caught my wrist, and grabbing my other wrist, he managed to drag me back to lie on the bed. I scratched and kicked, but to no avail. Eventually he put a gag in my mouth—he still had his wand. Grabbing my hair—OUCH—to pull my ear but inches from his mouth, he whispered fiercely, "Do you want me to tie you up? Do you want to be humiliated? If you want your hands and ankles to be tied while I do my business, by all means, continue struggling. But I must warn you; you may accidentally get another broken bone if you continue being so stubborn. I don't want this to be forced. I don't want to have to control you to make you enjoy this. You've already destroyed my life enough as it is by knowing my secrets, so can you give me some respect and let me do this gently, without you interrupting?"

I managed to push the gag out with a bit of gnawing and jaw twisting. "Respect? RESPECT? _You_ want _my _respect?" I was outraged. "I think you've got it all wrong. Draco Malfoy, you-this-I-ludicrous! All of this! Absolutely insane! You're the one manhandling and abusing me. I think it's more a question of _you_ respecting _me_, rather than the other way around."

For a few moments, his guard was down, and he stared at me in shock, eyes unusually wide. But then he quickly switched to a new mood, and smirking, he said, "Alright, alright. I'll respect you and stop…manhandling you. As for abuse, that is a harsh word to use, and if it _was_ abuse—which none of it was—then that's only because you rebelled! Remember our bargain? I told you I'd answer your questions if you didn't rebel."

Trembling in rage, I hissed, "Okay then, Mister Malfoy, answer one more question for me: What is it that you want from me?"

"I want you to accept your fate, damnit!" I jumped at the volume of his voice, and then stared as he continued. "You didn't understand before! When I said that," his voice lowered to a nearly inaudible whisper, "When I said that you were mine, I meant it literally. You're a vampire victim, Hermione, whether you like it or not. I didn't mean to choose you, but you've gotten the Bite. Whether you like it or not, you're mine now. My energy source. My…listen. Here's how it works with vampires like me. I'm only half vampire, I'm psychic, and I'm cursed. People like me have phases.

"Phase One: becoming a vampire. I was born one, so forget that. Phase Two: beginning the cycle. That means that I begin a cycle of biting, a pattern of sorts. Each vampire has their own pattern, according to their own personal circumstances. I'm psychic, so I need energy. What better place to get energy than at school? So, I began at age eleven. It was easy! All I needed to get energy was to touch a person for a certain length of time, or even a belonging of theirs. A simple borrowing of a book and then returning it; looking over a fellow Slytherin's Potions essay; using a used knife to butter my toast. Easy. But the rest wasn't easy; my pattern. I had to do what I had to do. You don't want to know the details.

"But anyway, the point is, my pattern has changed now. Instead of going from donor to donor—donor is the vampire's word for whom we suck blood from—I have chosen one donor. One person now will give blood and energy. If I am deprived for a long enough while, as I now have been for weeks, then the options of how I get my energy become minimal. That's when my curse kicks in. Remember the story about the magical pool? That effects me all the time, but I only go that extreme with donors if I've lost energy enough to need it just to do daily things. I know it's complicated, and it takes getting used to, but…I'm sure you will eventually."

My mind was spinning. This was so confusing! And frustrating, really. It seemed to be that I was now Draco Malfoy's slave! "So wait," I said, "let me get this straight. You suck blood like a normal vampire, for food and drink. You don't need to eat as much as humans do. Since you're a psychic vampire, you drain energy from people, and use that energy for yourself. Any type of physical contact of you using something of theirs, or touching them, gives you their energy. Is that right?"

He nodded. "And," I continued, "Due to your curse of feeling," I gulped nervously, glad for the darkness that hid my blush, "unusually extreme sex desire, you occasionally, um…" now my blush was so hot I could feel it.

I continued before he could finish my sentence, "You used your donors' bodies as well, when it was needed. But usually you only used the bodies of your donors—young virgin girls, I presume—when you lacked the energy to go about doing daily things, and got ill enough to have a hard time breathing and such. Otherwise, you simply used donors to suck blood and nick a bit of energy here and there, correct? And I also assume that you switched from donor to donor, used an improvised Memory Charm to make them forget, only did this once a week or four times a month or something consistent like that. And Annika Stein was your first mess-up. Now you're saying that instead of that pattern, I am to be your one and only 'donor,' your source of blood and…energy. Correct?"

Draco nodded twice, and clapping me on the back—causing me to wince at the pain given to the injury I had there—he said, "Well done. I knew you would figure it all out. That's the girl I'm used to. Not confused and knickers-tied-in-knots Granger, but the smart-arse Granger."

I ignored his comments. "Granger? I thought a little while ago it was Hermione? And what am I to call you? Master? Lord? Oh Almighty Bloodsucker? Destroyer of my life?"

As I couldn't help but chuckle, he shot me a withering glare, saying, "Just Draco will do. And when in public, Malfoy is fine. Now remember—"

"'Don't tell anybody, living or dead, anything that you just heard, or else!'" I recited, mimicking what I knew he was about to say. Draco brushed his hair away from his face again, nodding. Then he leaned back to lie down beside me, sighing loudly.

I stared at Draco for a few moments, wondering what life would be like with so much association with him, before lying down to snuggle against him. My head rested on his chest, and one hand of mine was combing through his hair, while the other wrapped around his waist. I was too tired to stress about everything he'd told me, and currently, I just wanted someone to be beside me, to comfort me.

It was nice having him so close, for some reason. I loved the smell of his cologne, and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The soft cotton of his white hospital uniform rubbed nicely through the thin cloth of what I wore. His hand, firm and callused, was reassuringly clasping mine, and the touch of his skin—what little his top left uncovered—against my cheek was smooth and soft.

I lifted my head up as a little groan came from Draco's throat, and I felt him fidgeting slightly beside me. Tilting my head so that my mouth was right by his ear, I whispered, "What's wrong?" He moaned, and then his hand pulled away from mine, and instead went to cup my cheek tenderly. I began to become worried. Why was he all of a sudden so needy and sensitive? What did he want?


	13. Chapter 13

**WILTED CELANDINE  
**

**Chapter Thirteen**

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXOOXOX  
_

_Third person, Draco's POV_

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXOXOXO  
_

Just the touch of Hermione's cheek against his hand gave Draco a bit of energy. This entire time he had been speaking with Hermione, he had disguised his exhaustion. It was something he was well practiced at. Having gone days without an opportunity for drink or energy before, Draco had learned that disguising his sleepiness, his weakness, was best.

However, it had been weeks since he'd drained even a bit of energy, and the last time he'd bitten anyone had been about five days and four nights ago. That was over 100 hours! He supposed this phase was harder, and that, having only one donor, he would need to drink and drain energy more than usual. Before, in the previous phase, he'd been able to go for a little more than a week without anything. But now here he was, feeling weaker than ever after only five days! It almost disgusted him.

Hermione's breathy whisper of concern against his ear was only more aggravating. He suddenly wanted to feel her skin unlike ever before. He had promised himself he wouldn't bite her until she got more used to everything, but the need for energy, for some kind of contact with her, was too much to hold in. Another little desperate moan escaped his lips.

However, Draco moaned for an entirely different reason as Hermione's tongue slid sensually against his ear. How did she know what he wanted? How had she accepted it so easily? Breathing ragged, Draco closed his eyes tightly as she began to suck at his neck and kiss his skin open-mouthed. Her hot tongue and full lips against his skin was aggravatingly enticing.

Draco decided to let her treat him; usually he would prefer to be in control, but as this was simply a way to drive away his exhaustion, he let Hermione do what she wanted. Every press of her lips against his skin was a notch higher in Draco's mood and energy.

In a wild torrent of abysmal fury, lust thrummed through him at an astonishing pace, and in a surge of desire Draco found himself switching their positions, making him on top and masterful. Enthused that he now felt energetic, exhilaratingly powerful as he was used to feeling, Draco gave Hermione's neck a kiss, smirking as she tensed at the contact; each moment more her body was against him energized him more. He slowly slid a finger southward from Hermione's collarbone, stopping as he reached the top of her snug-fit 'clothes.'

Noticing how the girl's chest heaved in nervous breathing, Draco realized that, regardless of his spurt of energy, he had to be careful with Hermione. She could turn on him at any moment, and appeared to be very sensitive to physical contact. She wasn't used to it, apparently.

Refraining from continuing as he wished, Draco gave Hermione a brief yet passionate kiss on the lips, and then slid off the bed and returned back to his bed to finally rest. Now he was content.

White sheets twisted around him, Draco couldn't help but smile. Everything was fixed up now; things would be simple from now on, he thought.

What could go wrong?

As he soon found out, the answer was horrific: everything.

__

Two weeks later and Draco was finally out of the hospital. He felt dead (haha), so weak and exhausted he was. _Unfortunately_, he would often think bitterly, _although I would love to, I can't even die. I'm immortal…well…almost. Almost…_

It had seemed that all the changes in his life had happened over a short span of time, however, they had not. Three more days, and the year would be over. He could say goodbye to Hogwarts for the sixth time in his life. This thought did not please him, though.

For it meant that he had to leave it all. The 'friends.' The comforting disguise, the mask he put over the face of who he really was. The Bloodlust. The curse. Hermione. All would fade away during the summer. For Draco, summer was hibernation time. He would hole himself up in his room and sleep.

The only reason he was ever able to sleep, as a half-vampire, was because as he became weaker and weaker by having no blood to drink or energy to drain, he had nothing to do _but _sleep. As long as no distractions came, Draco was fine. During the summer, he was safe and content to let his brain go dead, his body become limp, and his sexual and Bloodlust urges to fall into disused rustiness born of being temporarily neglected.

But this time, he feared there would be many distractions. Hermione had still not returned to him his precious locket, and he needed to give her the Bite at least once before summer came. Time was running thin. Everything was going wrong, and Draco was fully aware of the trouble he could be in if he let it continue the way it was.

So on the last day of school, a half hour before Dumbledore's closing speech, Draco went looking for Hermione. It was a more difficult search than he'd thought it would be. The first place he looked was the library; second, he waited in the shadows of Gryffindor Tower, waiting for her to appear from the Fat Lady's portrait (he knew about it due to having followed Colin Creevey once). Suddenly, he had only five minutes left. Draco went to the one place he would imagine Hermione could be at: the lavatory of Moaning Myrtle.

Tiptoeing into the loo room, Draco felt strangely self conscious. Usually he walked around knowing he looked good; for he spent hours each morning primping himself to look his best. He usually didn't care what others thought of him, of he invading their privacy and their lives. However, now he felt like he was trespassing. Moaning Myrtle was not a ghost to be messed with, and with his weakness and desperation, his usual aloofness had diminished greatly.

He turned around quickly, shoes squeaking against the floor, as he heard murmurs coming from across the room. He quickly tiptoed past the many stalls, until he finally reached the last one. The familiar voice of Hermione came from behind the door, and upon looking around, Draco saw that she must be speaking to Myrtle, who was sitting on the wall in between Hermione's stall and the next, grinning and nodding in glee as she listened to Hermione's miserable woes.

"And, Myrtle, he—he…oh god, it was horrible, and yet…beautiful. His bite. Glorious as his kiss, yet with a few more drops of pain. All kinds of pain; not excluding any single one. There are too many types of pain in this world. Then…"

Draco didn't know what to do, what to say. For the first time in his life, he felt the twist of despair stabbing his gut. He had felt anger, desire, fear, need, desperation, anger, but never, _never_ this horrible despair, utter angst and the want to give up swirling inside of him. It was like hot tears on a block of ice—totally separate and unknown by the other organism, and yet of the same element. It fit _what_ he was, but not _who_ he was.

Draco had never heard what his victims, his donors, thought upon getting bitten. He'd never given them the chance, making sure they forgot him and what he'd inflicted upon them as soon as possible. Hearing Hermione's conflicts about the situation, to realize that the girl he saw every day was not necessarily everything he'd thought, Draco was crushed. The desperation that he felt inside of himself that tinged her voice with hoarseness, it frightened him. It was an enemy he had no weapon, no words, nothing to defend himself against.

He had always had something to defend himself with, or made an image of himself, worn a mask, to make sure his identity was not one people would want to harm in any way. He was not weak, but he was not so foolish as to not have any defense at all. Draco thought he was strong; the rare times when he actually needed his different kinds of defensive shields rendered him slightly handicapped.

A sudden bitterness welled up in Draco's heart. He didn't want to deal with this. He could survive without pathetic Granger. As long as he stayed away, he could be strong without her, and by the time the two months of summer were over, she wouldn't have a speck of significance in his life anymore.

Turning on his heel, Draco left abruptly. He had decided.

Avoiding Hermione Granger was best. For both of them.

_XOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXOXO_

"Father."

Lucius Malfoy looked up as his son appeared in the study doorway, hand against the polished wood door, face emotionless. His son barely ever came by the study room; Draco knew that Lucius didn't want to be disturbed, and that it bode ill for those who interrupted him abruptly. This visit was a rare occurrence.

Draco, too, knew this. He took a step forward as he noticed his father smile at him. Well, no, not really what could be called a smile, but neither a smirk of haughtiness—like the kind Draco often wore at school. No, this smile, this look, was only in Lucius' eyes, a tiny bit of color in a man that was otherwise only shades of grey. The look Lucius gave Draco was a warning, an expression which said _I am pleased with you at this moment, but try to get closer, to defy my power, and mercy will be the opposite of what I will give you._

At his father's gesture, a bending of those long, slender fingers, fingers that seemed so delicate and harmless yet at times could be hard as steel, ruthless in their actions, Draco went to stand in front of his father. After a moment of appraising his son, Lucius said, "What is wrong with you." It wasn't a question. Lucius Malfoy never asked questions. He simply exploited weaknesses by disguising them as ignorance, as the need to ask.

Draco never knew what to expect from his father. He'd been living with the man for all fifteen years of his life, but still could never predict a single action or word of Lucius'.

"Father, I've gone to the next phase."

The harsh sound of a slap rang through the air as palm contacted roughly with the youth's face. Draco fell with the force of it, his feet still touching the floor, but his body curled, back against the floor, one trembly arm supporting himself. He made sure not to blink as his father looked down at him, all sign of anything positive gone from the man's face. It was only inhumanity that made Lucius' face not covered with frown lines.

"You should have told me sooner, boy. I've told you repeatedly to stop succumbing to the Bloodlust, but you never listen, do you? Shut yourself up and tell me when you've chosen someone or decide to follow my orders and stop this disgusting cycle of yours."

Knowing it wasn't the time to be defiant, Draco didn't voice his thoughts of _I won't deny what I am like you do, father. I won't try to do the impossible and stop my natural instincts._ Instead, he, touching his cheek lightly and wincing with the throbbing pain and certainty of a visible bruise, left the room. He knew the hit would have drawn blood if his skin was that of a delicate mortal.

But this thought didn't comfort him. Reminders of what he had to accept never did.


	14. Chapter 14

___If you've stuck with me this long, I congratulate you. xD_ Actually, this is one of my favorite chapters. Plus, it starts to get more interesting from here on out.  


_XOXOXOXOXOOXXOXOXOXOXO_**  
**

**WILTED CELANDINE  
**

**Chapter Fourteen**

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_Third person, Hermione's POV_

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Hermione yawned widely as she slowly sat up in bed, sheets still twisted around her. Stretching out her arms and legs, she slowly opened her eyes to a bright morning. Home. She was home!

Squealing excitedly, Hermione jumped out of bed before grabbing some clothes and going to take a quick shower. A few minutes later, the clinking of dishes being pulled from the cupboards and the whistle of the tea kettle greeted Hermione as she came downstairs to a breakfast of yummy pancakes.

Hermione proceeded to tell her parents a summary of how her most recent school year had went. Yesterday upon coming home she had been too tired to talk very much. Her parents nodded and smiled as they heard all about their daughter's wonderful year (just like all the others, but with a little less adventure due to the sudden disappearance of Voldemort), how the classes had mostly been easy, some fun, some annoying for certain reasons; they listened closely as she told them about the new club she had made and all the club members, as well as how Harry and Ron were doing, and that Ravenclaw had won the House cup, but Gryffindor had had many Quidditch victories.

After saying a goodbye to her father as he left for work, and helping her mother clean the dishes, Hermione went upstairs to write letters. Acquaintances and Professors' letters took a bit long. Neville and Luna's letters were quick, and Ron and Ginny were easy to write to. Harry was another matter, though. She never knew quite how to cheer him up. She didn't want to be too cheery, because then Harry would be bothered—the feeling would not be mutual. But she didn't want to be too serious, because then Harry wouldn't be able to relax. If she wrote some of her summer plans and maybe an idea for meeting he and Ron at the Burrow, as well as a little bit about summer homework and an inquiry as to his well being, Harry would be happy. _Yes yes, that's a letter he'll like_.

Eventually the Weasley family owl, Errol, had died, and as a Christmas present, Hermione gave Ginny Crookshanks, who had become quite fond of the little redhead. But they did notice how she missed having a pet. So, whether it was because Ron had urged him to, or just because he thought it was a good gift, Harry had given Hermione an owl for her birthday. It was a light grey one, small but not tiny as Pigwidgeon, and her name was Dilys, named after a silver haired woman—in a portrait in Dumbledore's office—by the last name Derwent; Dilys Derwent had worked as a Healer at St. Mungo's in the years 1722-1741, and had even been Hogwarts Headmistress from 1741-1768.

Dilys was a very capable owl, and as Hermione's letters weren't extremely long, the envelopes weren't too heavy. So Hermione hooked Ron and Ginny's letters to one of the owl's feet and Harry's to the other, and sent the bird off on her way. The others could wait for later. Sighing, Hermione went to flop down on her bed, and chewing her quill thoughtfully, she stared up at the baby blue ceiling.

_I think there must be at least one more person to send a letter to_, Hermione mused. _But who could it be? I've sent a letter to Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, McGonagall, the Order, Mrs. Weasley, Gabrielle Delacour—I'm so glad I got that Magnifique Magenta Muffins recipe from her. I just know there's someone I'm forgetting…someone who I should write a letter to…Hmm…_

For a few more minutes, Hermione lay there thinking, but then, with a frown, she sat up, and tossed her quill back on the desk, gagging at the strange taste now in her mouth. Smoothing out her clothes, she went to stand in front of her oval shaped, footed mirror, and absentmindedly rearranged her hair into a few "Snazzy, sizzling hairstyles," as Witch Weekly had so inaccurately called them.

_Who is my next letter for? WHO am I forgetting? _The unknowing was driving Hermione crazy. Sighing, she knelt down on the floor by her book bag, glancing inside of it to see if there was a particular book she could read to distract her from her frustration. One particular book poked out, its subtitle blaring out at her: **Herbology**.

And then it struck her; the answer. It was as if a blast of light had revealed a dusty, neglected corner of a tiny room. In a sudden burst of realization, the answer arrived, and Hermione thought it should have been obvious, really. _Draco Malfoy. He's the one I forgot…_

But then doubts rushed into her mind, and she began to wonder why she had even thought of writing to Draco. What would she say to him? What kind of things does a person say to a vampire? Perhaps she would be casual, and simply mention school, Herbology, ask how his summer was going? But no, that was stupid. You just didn't talk to Draco Malfoy about casual things. If you wanted to talk to Draco Malfoy, then you talked to him for a reason, and it had better be damn important. Sighing, Hermione spun different beginnings in her mind.

"_Dear Draco," no, no, that's too affectionate. Um…"Greetings, Mr. Malfoy"? No, way too formal. Hmm, how about…"Hi Draco!" Ugh, way to cheery and…too much as if we know each other. Too friendly. Maybe…"We both know you're a sick wretch, but here's a letter from me to you, regardless." …Nah. It would probably give him a laugh, but that is just __**not**__ me. Uh uh. Perhaps…"Although we certainly have our differences and are not at the level of friendship, I do believe we have stepped above acquaintance. Thus, I am writing this letter to you." Ah, that's a bit strange. Maybe something more…neutral? How about…_

A half an hour or so later, and Hermione had decided to take a break from writing Draco's letter and do something else. However, she had just gotten downstairs when there was a knocking at the door, and the bell rang furiously. Who could ring a bell like that? The sound was quick, urgent. A sixth sense told Hermione the ringer was no ordinary person. Could it be…?

And it was. A wizard! But not the person Hermione had expected. She had expected Draco (for some reason she didn't want to explain to herself), or Ron, or maybe even Neville or Harry. But instead, the visitor was…

"_Professor LUPIN?_"

After a quiet tea time with the werewolf, in which Hermione found herself silently observing the familiar man, he proceeded to explain why he was there, in her house. There was only a trace of the sorrow in Lupin's eyes, but Hermione saw it; he disguised it as the ever-present fatigue and incurable haggard, shabby-clothed look, but there was a darkness behind those amber eyes that threatened to consume his features all the more at every moment. His hair seemed to have grayed more since Sirius' death, a reflection of the loss that he felt so heavily inside.

The first thing Hermione asked the worn yet bright-eyed Professor was if his arrival at her house was in any way related to Harry.

Smiling amiably, Lupin shook his head, replying, "Actually, Hermione, no. This doesn't have to do with Harry at all. Well….alright, it might relate to Harry. As you know, Voldemort hasn't appeared since Harry's confrontation with him at the end of your fifth year, and the sixth year has already passed. The Order is keeping close watch on all known Death Eaters, especially any located at any place nearby Harry, you, or Ron."

"You're thinking we might be bait for Harry, or ransom, or something like that, right?"

That smile appeared again, this time less warm. "Correct as always, Hermione. We don't want any harm to come to any of you, and the best way to make sure you're all safe is to keep a close eye on you all. A VERY close eye. Now, Ron has both his parents looking after him, and if Arthur is at work then Molly is always home. Harry, of course, has double security. Mrs. Figgs is regularly inviting him over to her home, and Mad-Eye and Tonks are prowling the area. Mundungus is taking my stead at Grimmauld Place, and I'm—"

"Here to make sure nothing happens to me, correct?"

His smile was all she needed for an answer.

"Mum! We have a visitor! Could I have a friend stay over for the summer?"

And so Hermione spent her morning writing letters and making arrangements for her werewolf friend, while meanwhile, Draco prepared for vampiristic hibernation.

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	15. Chapter 15

_Thank you for your interest! _**  
**

**WILTED CELANDINE**

Chapter Fifteen

_XOXOXOXOXOXOOXXOOXOX  
_

_First person, _

_Draco's POV_

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXXO  
_

A slow ticking sound was blaring loudly in my ears. I couldn't concentrate. Was the ticking simply a clock, or was it in my head? But there weren't any clocks in Malfoy Manor. We didn't use any Muggle contraptions to tell time; we didn't need to.

Sighing, something that I rarely ever did, I turned over on my side, closing my eyes, listening to my heart beat and trying to sink into myself, to be aware of only my own body. But it didn't help. The ticking continued, and I still couldn't concentrate on emptying my mind of everything and letting myself sink into the coma-like sleep that would relieve me of the sluggish time of summer that others had to spend doing something with.

I imagined that I was in water, sinking steadily into the depths of a lake, the cool feeling surrounding me, soft fingertips tracing my skin, caressing my chest, my cheek, sidling down to my navel, my waist, then lower—_No. Need to stop thinking. Shut myself in all meanings of the phrase. Just…stop. Everything. Stop…living. _Something inside me cringed at my own mistake. I wasn't alive, never had been. But sometimes, on rare occasions, I felt normal, felt like a human being, like one of _Them_.

Breaths came into my lungs in quick gasps. I tried to remind myself that I didn't _want_ to be normal, or like them, or for my 'life' to mean anything, because I had no life, and wasn't alive, and the only thing I had to do was _survive_, and be myself, and…

The world seemed to stop, and time slowed to an impossibly slow speed. My hand crept, as if of its own accord, to my trousers, and a low groan escaped my throat as I fondled myself to the point of erection. Licking my dried lips, I began to undo my belt, and then stopped. No, this was wrong. It wasn't the time for this. And footsteps were coming up the stairs. I quickly re-buckled my belt, cast a spell to close the curtains, and closed my eyes, arm now curled up to my chest, just as Father's boots clicked at the doorway.

I repressed the automatic stiffening of my muscles as Lucius came to stand by my bed; I could feel his eyes on me. Cold fingertips touched my brow for a moment, stroking, and I almost shivered. Then the footsteps receded.

Suddenly, I wanted to break something. This was so frustrating. I was thinking of things other than sleep, other than the hibernation I should have been experiencing just then. I thought of Granger, of kisses, of soft, tempting necks, and of smooth hands brushing my bare skin, lips burning with passion placed over mine.

Giving a soft groan, I grabbed a pillow and pushed it against my face, doing all I could to stop breathing.

This promised to be a hard summer.

__

Colors spinning beneath my eyelids, voices whispering, robes swishing, water dripping, wings swooshing. Swoosh. Swoosh. Goddamn owl twittering! _Shut the fuck up!_

Growling, I quickly sat up in bed, my eyes narrowing to slits as I noticed the gray owl on my desk. How the hell had it gotten in…? I snapped my teeth at it as I stood up, wondering for a moment what bird blood tasted like. Like seed shit, probably.

Hissing, I grabbed the letter from it, and went to sit back on my bed, accidentally rumpling my hair even further when scratching my head. I always got crazy itches after sleeping during the summer; all that movement while sleeping, and no shampooing of my hair—the dandruff always attacked me when I was vulnerable. Fortunately I didn't stink like a full human would after being unwashed for so long.

I glared at the owl when it didn't leave, giving me an innocent look, its beak clicking. How dare it awaken me! Summer wasn't over, and here I was reading damn letters. What the hell? Deep down, I knew it was my fault that I had been woken up at all; my usually coma-like hibernation had been disturbed by dreams ever since I had fallen asleep—I checked the time—a month ago.

An unfamiliar handwriting greeted me as I unfurled the parchment. Neat writing. Cursive. Straightly lined on blank parchment without lines. _Girl's handwriting. Someone who obviously took a bit of calligraphy. Spots on the paper—she had difficulty writing the letter, and, _I sniffed the parchment, _drank some orange juice while halfway through writing it, to help her think of what else to write. She only got a paragraph in before stopping, and finished writing the second half…two weeks later. The last fourth of it was written in a hurry. She lives far away. Hmm._

My eyes glanced over the envelope. Some address I didn't recognize, muggle-looking. Gravesend. Huh.

After squeezing my eyes tightly a moment to make the hazy feeling disappear, I began to read:

_The writing of this letter arose doubts in my mind, but I decided the writing of it was entirely necessary. Yet I have not begun properly. Hello, Draco. I have wondered a few times what you are up to over in Malfoy Manor. At times, I will admit, I have cringed and squirmed at the thought of you; I think by the end of this letter you'll understand why, and that I tried to avoid you towards the end of our Sixth year. Maybe you noticed. _

_It was impossible not to write this letter though. I wanted to be in some contact with you. Whether we like it or not, we have gotten, let's use the word, involved. We are involved in each other's lives, and can't turn back now. So I have accepted this reluctantly. _

_However, I fear for our futures, especially yours. You surely lead a harsh and painful life, my best Herbology student. I know you hate me for feeling so, but I pity you. I wish sometimes that I hadn't become enwrapped in your life, that it could be the same as it always was. I hate you for your man-handling of me, your teasing, your forcing me to listen to you and realize as each moment passes that I can't escape you. You insufferable git, you. _

_I wonder if you despise me as much as you did, and why you kissed me, and if what we have could be called a relationship. It's very hard to accept that I am an important part of your life now; I'm sure it is difficult for you to realize how dependant you are on me now as well. _

_I wonder how much you think about me, and if you realize that I usually never talk to people like this. I don't open myself up to anyone this much, and am telling you things even Harry and Ron haven't heard. I am not as studious as you may think me, Draco Malfoy. I simply busy myself because if I don't busy myself, then I put myself down, and I despair, and think about things I know I shouldn't—like you, and sex, and lying on beds. Oh my. That came out sounding horrible, didn't it? I didn't mean it like that. _

_You do that to me, you know. You make me lose grip of myself and act the way I try not to act in public, do things I don't mean to, mix up my own words and mix up everything else. You make me follow my instinct, which I rarely ever do, because what I do is controlled by my mind, and instinct is an automatic, uncontrolled response born of the soul. I am barely ever actually myself around anyone, sometimes even not Harry or Ron._

_If I don't keep myself busy, then my world falls apart. I love to learn, and I want to prove my worth to everyone—including you. I was never anyone special before I came to Hogwarts, but my eagerness to learn helped me quickly become viewed as one of the smart and studious people. I don't actually read textbooks as much as people think. I do read them a lot during summer, with nothing else to do, but often my time spent in the library is actually time for reading novels. I love mysteries and fantasy stories. Do you ever read? I mean, for enjoyment, not for school._

_I must go to dinner now. There is more I would write, more I would reveal, but some things are too private. And besides, we'll be getting more involved in the future whether we like it or not, so I should keep some secrets to myself, and force you to ask questions if you're curious. I promise, if you do ask, and honestly want to know, that for once, I won't answer your questions with questions. _

_Yours truly,_

Hermione

For a few moments I simply sat there, staring at the letter. Then I quickly placed it back in the envelope, and stuck it in a small mahogany box—where I put letters of all sorts, sometimes used as evidence or blackmail, and tiny trinkets that were, in different ways, significant—on top of my fireplace. Then I cast an Illusion Charm on the box to hide it, and took out a piece of parchment and quill.

I closed my eyes in thought for a moment, and then scribbled,

_Meet me in Diagon Alley on August 20th, 11:00 AM. We'll talk then._

_-your Master_

Then, unable to stop a smile from curling my lips, I quickly sent the owl off on its way.

August 20th came and went, but I never saw Hermione. Later on I received a letter from her saying that she had been unable to go that day, due to having just arrived at the Weasleys. She said she was unable to visit Diagon Alley until August 28th to go pick up school necessities.

A week later, on August 27th, and I sat at my desk brooding, quietly sipping a goblet of Wrogel Wrigget's Weirdest Wine, and trying to forget the entire summer. I felt almost asleep on my feet, I was so weak. After receiving Hermione's first letter I had gone back to sleep, waking up for every letter she sent. However, I had now been unable to sleep since August 19th when I woke up to prepare for the secret trip to Diagon Alley. My door was locked, and Father hadn't come to check up on me, so no one except myself, Hermione, her owl, and a house elf were aware that I was not spending my entire summer in bed.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed around my room, and I turned in my chair, spilling some of my drink on the floor with my speed. Standing by the foot of my bed, staring at me guiltily, dressed in muggle clothing, was Hermione.

_Shit._

_XOXOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXXO_

_More soon...  
_


	16. Chapter 16

_I crammed two chapters in here. It was too short. Thanks for reading and reviewing this old thing...  
_

**WILTED CELANDINE**_  
_

by the Ultimate Otaku_  
_

Chapter Sixteen 

_First person, _

_Hermione's POV_

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXOOXO  
_

I swallowed nervously as he stared at me, the stain on his plush carpet—not that it would appear much on the black color—being totally ignored. I felt as if the spotlight had come onto me when I stood on a stage, not quite ready to perform yet. Draco's sharp, piercing eyes were boring into me, his gaze roving over me, most likely labeling me insane.

I felt awkward and uncomfortable, and began to regret my decision to visit him. Wearing muggle clothes was probably a crime in the Malfoy mansion, and I looked just the part of a muggle, wearing my green tanktop, white short-sleeved coat over it, and a pair of jean Capri pants that fit me a little too well.

Draco looked as if he was about to fall over in exhaustion. He had dark circles under his eyes, looked paler than usual, and his eyelids drooped. A loose robe that had obviously been from forever ago made a makeshift shirt—a bit of the hard abs revealed—and he also wore a pair of black boxers with 'Slyth' all over them, the sight of which made me blush.

His hair was unusually rumpled, platinum blonde standing up in frizzled friction. It seemed as if Draco had been sleeping, or just woken up. I sensed that I had come at a bad time; especially by the way he looked at me, as if I was a very unwelcome dirty pile of something utterly revolting. _Augh, my god, I shouldn't have come here! What now?_

I stared in shock as suddenly Draco fell on all fours, and began to tremble and shake horribly. It was worse than seeing the spider have the Cruciatus Curse spell on it in my Fourth Year. The idea that this was a part of him—the inexplicable pain, sudden writhing, and inability to control the Bloodlust—it horrified and frightened me to no end. I wasn't one to become disturbed, frightened, or angered easily, yet the sight of the Bloodlust coming over Draco made me feel all of these.

I almost screamed in terror, knowing exactly what was happening, before I realized that I would have to climb down from his balcony and walk half a mile before reaching the nearest Portkey. Getting out was never as easy (not that it had been easy) as getting in, with an Unplottable place like Malfoy Manor. I wondered why alarms weren't going off. Maybe Draco's room was assumed safe?

How could he stand such torture? Did he go through each day hating himself? How could he revel in drinking blood, succumbing to the horrors of the Bloodlust? I didn't want to spite him for what he was; I wanted to forgive him for everything, for what he was, who he was, how he acted. Although he hadn't told me or given any implications, I knew each day and night was a nightmare for him in some way. I wanted to help him survive through that, to heal him of the pain that he was surrounded by and felt daily.

For a lot of the summer, I had thought of Draco, worried about him, gotten angry at him, hated him, cried about him, sighed about him, and yearned for him. He had a comforting effect on me when he was in a good mood like he had been during our Herbology lessons, and summer always made me stressed. But now…I stood gaping like an idiot as Draco stood up. All I could do was stare back into his gaze as the half-vampire approached, incisors now sharpened ready to bite, the Bloodlust so hot I could almost sweat from the heat.

There was no time to explore Draco's room, to find a hiding spot, and I had absolutely nowhere to run and no way to escape. Lunging forward, I did the first thing that came to mind, and locked my lips with Draco's.

I had never initiated a kiss before, and wasn't at all experienced, so this was entirely new to me. Should it be drier, wet, softer, or harder? When to use tongues, if at all? Draco's lips were soft and smooth, mouth hungrily pressing against mine. His hands were placed with the lightest touch on my hips, and one leg of his was placed between mine, his chest only inches apart from mine making me even more nervous.

Moaning softly as his tongue probed my lips, I refused his tongue entrance, and tried to pull away. This was bad, and was not at all what I had planned to happen upon coming here. I had to get away! There was no way I was letting him give me the Bite again. He had always managed to eventually edge his mouth to my neck after overwhelming me with a kiss. And I hadn't really meant to kiss him; _it was an act of desperation_, I told myself, although a tiny voice in my head saying in a singsong voice, _not true, you __**wanted**__ it!_

I turned away from him, struggling to escape as his hands wrapped around my wrists, grip tight enough to bruise. Regardless of fatigue, he was extremely strong, and suddenly I was filled with an unexplainable fear. I didn't want this, didn't want pain. Oh god, I wanted the easy way, I wanted to have him without having any trouble or challenges. I was sick of working to achieve my means; I was not a Slytherin, I wouldn't do anything to achieve what I wanted. _I might as well give up, anyway. Because I want the impossible. I want him. I want to cure him, to…_I froze as, slowly, as if wax melting from a candle, I realized what I wanted. _I want to give to him everything that I am and have, and I want him to accept it not from a victim, a Blood donor, another cherry popped, but as someone that he feels…affectionate for. Oh god, why? What is wrong with me? What is it that pulls me towards him? What darkness in him relates to me at all? What do I do?_

Suddenly, I was struck with the hopelessness of the situation, and with the fear strangling me as well as my questions, the unsurpassable questions that I loathed so much because I couldn't answer them. I felt weak. He meant so much to me, and yet I knew that I was insignificant to him, nought but a slave to the Bloodlust, a toy to use, an inconvenience to vent anger out on. I wanted to collapse on the floor and cry and cry until no more tears came.

I surprised myself as a sob burst out of me, and with the tears threatening to spill, I threw myself towards Draco, arms tightly wrapped around his neck, my face against his shoulder. I hated crying in front of him, baring to him that Gryffindors weren't always brave, and that I was foolish, the Queen of Fools. There was nothing I could do to solve the situation, and no way could I take back anything, now. That included the letters I had sent him, the attachment I'd developed for him, and my arrival in his home.

I knew that what I had been doing was wrong, that bit by bit, I was destroying everything Draco had taken for granted. The unexpected was happening, and here I was taking the role of the damsel in distress. _Oh, God. Why me? Why am I the victim? Why didn't he trash me, kill me, as soon as he knew the Mudblood was fated to be linked with his destiny? Why, why, why?_

The questions swirled around in my head, torturing me endlessly, until finally I could stand the suspense no more. Edging away from Draco, I stood back to observe how he had reacted.

A screaming and yelling Draco would have been better than the fury sparkling dangerously in his eyes. An emotionless and unresponsive, neutral Draco would have not been any less than I'd expected. A disgusted Draco would have been plausible. However, a Draco that glared at me with an intensity so fierce I couldn't bear to return his gaze, a Draco that did not take a step forward in anger, nor raise a hand to strike me, but instead retreated into the shadows to stare at me in eerie silence; this Draco was not only frightening, but powerful as well.

He had an inexplicable power over me. By making himself unable to be emotionally understood by anyone, by making sure to be as unpredictable as ever, he had power over people. They had to guard themselves against him, without knowing if it was necessary.

I, however, was a different case. In my foolishness, in my strange connection with him, I had become attached to him, and let all my guard down. He had taken advantage of me, made me question myself, made me ask questions about him and about myself that had been hidden deep within me. I could not answer these questions. They were only for him to answer. But I was too afraid to ask them, to say them to his face.

Biting back a last sob, I stood there staring at my feet, feeling all the world like the most shameful and stupid person in the entire world. Anything he did, I now deserved. I deserved to be punished. Living without him was torture, and so I figured I might as well surrender. There seemed to be no other way.

But then I remembered the Celandine, and taking it out of my pocket, held it in front of me, out towards him. He took a step forward, his hand crept out from the shadows, I held my breath, he looked at me, those eyes composed as ever they had been, yet containing a certain fathomless in them, too, and then…

First person, Draco's POV

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXO_

I was reaching forward, fingers almost touching the Celandine, not questioning why I was taking it, why I was, in a way, accepting a truce with the girl I had trusted to be strong. She had revealed herself for what she was. She was a weakling, Hermione Granger was. Just like all the others. She had no idea, with the desire still in her to become something to me, what she was getting in to. Once they realized what they were getting into, they became afraid, and they became the most weak, unprepared creatures. This made them more vulnerable, and it made them easier to use.

But I didn't want to use Granger anymore. Survival or not, I wasn't going to accept a weakling. That had been why I'd liked her, actually felt a faint something other than Bloodlust and anger towards her. She had been strong, defiant, and unbreakable. But now she revealed that she was, in fact, weak. No more was I going for the weak. I had accepted her because I knew she was noble enough to be trusted, and, as she had just proved my wrong, I had also thought she was too strong to break easily. I hadn't wanted her to break easily, because I knew what the consequences would be for us both, and that I needed her more than anything else.

Forget needing her, forget wanting her. I wouldn't stoop that low. She was no more than a weak Muggleborn, a know-it-all, a Pottermaniac, a self-pitying dreamer who hadn't enough willpower to even try and fulfill her innermost desires. She couldn't even face her innermost desires, denied herself what she really wanted to do and say at every moment. I couldn't stand someone who was so corruptible, gullible, weak, ignorant, and childish.

I was reaching for the Celandine when suddenly there was a knock at the door, and dropping the poisonous plant, Hermione, eyes wide, lifted her head up. Those large eyes glowed with fear. I twirled around to push her behind a curtain, double-checking to make sure she was well hidden just before the door opened.

It was whom I expected. Father. He came to stand in front of me, steps heavy, and glaring down at me, his look uncaring and reprimanding—the look that was so common that I wasn't afraid of it anymore. "What are you doing awake, Draco? You're supposed to be in bed. Don't disgrace yourself so by walking the Malfoy floors in such a weak state! Where is your dignity, boy?"

I jutted my chin upward proudly. "My dignity is always intact, Father. But I lose some of it during my summer hibernation. It is the sacrifice I must make to survive. That's all there is: survival. I do what I must do, instead of denying who and what I am."

I left out the words we both knew were meant to be at the end of that last sentence: _like you have._ Lucius couldn't harm me. He could bruise me, but he could not kill me. He could not control me anymore. I wasn't a child, not a little boy afraid to look into those steel eyes.

Glancing coolly at his hands, I noticed them trembling slightly in anger. Was he going to hit me again? I wouldn't let him do that. He had more strength, but not any more power than I did. I was his son, and had inherited parts and particles of him, but I was of different mind. Defy him I would, and with pride.

A familiar, large fist shot towards me, but I put a hand out in calm, defiant defense, my nerves tingling painfully with the force with which his fist slammed to a stop against my palm. It was the ultimate act of rebellion, his utter humiliation, the final straw, and the truth that I was the one who stood on the green grass of the other side.

My attention was distracted as that gaze flitted down to the floor, and he picked up my twig of Celandine. Staring at it accusingly, he lifted it up, saying, "This is what I think it is. From our garden. Celandine."

I nodded, but then my eyes widened as father's grip on the tiny bit of plant became tighter. No! There was no way I was letting him destroy it! Lunging forward, I yelled, "Don't!" and managed to snatch it from those hands before they could shred my Celandine to pieces.

I quickly grabbed the locket from where it had fallen when I shoved Hermione behind the curtain, and put the Celandine in it and then placed it around my neck again, tucking the locket beneath my shirt. When I looked up at Lucius, he was grinning. Once again, he had defeated me, and exploited a weakness I had revealed to him. Once again, he had squelched the rebellion from my mind, and made me get that desperate and lost feeling in my stomach.

_Damn him!_

Growling low in my throat, I looked up at his cruel, pale gaze, and then he walked out. This was so frustrating! I hated living in the same house as that horrible creature. He was ashamed of me, ashamed that I let the Bloodlust, the instincts I had been born with, drive me, and so he threw me off my guard every chance he got, humiliating me. In public, we only acted the way we did to uphold the family name's honor and reputation. When at home, however, it was an entirely different situation.

I was relieved when he left the room.

Taking out my glass locket, I stared through the transparent material at the Celandine, the plant that was more than a plant to me, which was most precious. I sat down heavily on my bed. Exhaustion was coursing through me again. My hand's grip on the sheets tightened as I remembered Hermione, and the girl slowly came from behind the curtain and stood by my bed.

I hated the way she stared at me, her emotions more written on her face than even Potter. She was curious, guilty, sad, afraid, frustrated, a little angry, and still yearning for…. something. I wasn't sure what it was, why she was so relentless about getting whatever it was she wanted from me.

Turning away from the locket, I stared straight into her wide, chocolate gaze, asking gruffly, "What do you want?"

This situation was exasperating me to no end. Why was she so determinedly stalking me? Did she want to destroy and interrupt everything I did, or was the infamous Gryffindor stupidity telling her to attempt something impossible and ludicrous?

Glaring at me fiercely, she snapped, "You don't really care, so I'm not telling you. Bite me." For a second, I let my guard down, and a jolt of surprise shot through me. Then I realized that she hadn't meant it literally, and that 'bite me' was just a saying. Still staring at me, she laughed upon seeing my reaction, and continued to laugh, the high, cheery sound eerie in my territory.

Frowning, I said, "Granger, get the hell out of my house or shut up."

She continued to laugh, the sound making the alarm bells in my head go off ungrudgingly, and in a whirl of anger that my mind hadn't been able to tap into since the last time I had seen her, I grabbed her around the throat. Spluttering, she stood helplessly as my nails dug into her neck with ferocity. God, I wanted to kill her. She was being such a pest! How could I ever have been attracted to this Muggleborn, pompous bitch? She was foolish and pathetic.

But then I noticed the blood dripping from her neck that my nails had created, and releasing her, I crawled to look over the side of the bed at her crumpled form. She had collapsed to the floor as soon as my hands had let go of her neck. How pitiful.

As the scent of blood, delectable, and sweet, wafted into my nostrils, all thoughts of hatred and killing disappeared from my mind. I wanted to taste that blood, to feast. I needed it! Mmm, I could just imagine it spilling from that long, slender neck. The way the skin was so creamy and soft, throat revealed and ready to have my teeth sink in…

Half on the bed, my eyelids drooped in fatigue and dizzy hunger, so my reflexes were slowed. Hermione slapped my face and scooted away before I could so much as touch my teeth to her neck. So all I got was a torturous, Bloodlust intensifying lick at a few drops of the crimson banquet.

Suddenly, my exhaustion from lack of sleep and inability to catch her and drink my fill overwhelmed me, and the last I saw before sinking into darkness was the surprisingly determined, severe glint in Hermione's eyes.

I awoke to the sound of familiar voices, a distant, murmuring blur in my ears. My name was mentioned a lot. One voice was Hermione's, and the other was a vaguely familiar voice. I analyzed his voice: mellow, weary, slightly exasperated yet trying not to show it, cautious, maybe a little curious, but most of all, serious and businesslike.

Groaning loudly, I opened my eyes, crying out as sunlight blasted in from the wide-open curtains; I realized upon looking at the ceiling that I was not at Malfoy Manor anymore. _I do believe this is the shittiest I've ever felt._

I turned on my side, catching a glimpse of Hermione standing over the bed I lay on, before I buried my face in a pillow, growling muffled curses. I was wearing proper clothes all of a sudden, too, though my hair was still mussed.

I flinched as Hermione's hand came to grip my shoulder; it was an attempt to be comforting. Somehow, she thought she had changed me, that I was more sensitive and caring than I had been before—which was to say, not at all. For a few moments, I remained with my face in the pillow, the scent of Granger—not Hermione, but the Granger family—on the cotton material. Every family had a smell for me, as well as each individual person, because different blood types—A, B, O, etc., as well as Muggleborn and Pureblood—had different smells.

The Bloodlust was still in me, a sizzling deep and torrid inside me, waiting for the gates to open so that it could flood out in all its rapid, furious, burning glory. I felt for a moment as if bathed in blood, my mind was so concentrated on thirst, so hungry that my Bloodlusty fantasies seemed so real that I had to sit up and stare at my hands to make sure blood hadn't dyed my skin crimson.

I sat on the side of the bed and began to take off my boots, as another voice, that vaguely familiar male voice I had analyzed when regaining consciousness, spoke to me. He said, "You've been unconscious for an hour, Draco. Everything is okay. No one has been harmed. Hermione transported you back here with difficulty."

I didn't give a damn how long I'd been unconscious. But I felt a rare feeling of nervousness and slight guilt when I heard him speak. The werewolf. 'Professor' Lupin. He had quit in our third year. I had to admit that he had known his DADA—and his sanity and identity, unlike other DADA Professors—quite well. He was a werewolf. Automatically, involuntarily, I felt slightly bonded to him. He knew what I wanted to know, what information was valuable to me when I awoke without knowing where I was. The questions that immediately came to my mind were: How did I get here? I don't remember drinking blood from anyone, but did anyone get harmed?

I almost smiled at the irony. Werewolves and vampires were not known to get along well. True, both were outcasts, both roamed among the normal without themselves being normal. Both sometimes could not control themselves. However, a vampire had to survive the curse of being what he was day and night. A werewolf only had to worry about the moon. Also, vampires drank blood—'harmed,' as some against us would put it—for a reason. Werewolves ramped about untamed and dangerous, possibly killing, if not caged in some way. We disliked them for their only having to suffer for one moonlit night. We disliked them for their sly attitudes, their curious, silent demeanors.

Lupin had not been the first werewolf I had met. There had been others - at Hogsmeade, at the Leaky Cauldron, in Diagon Alley. I could tell what they were, and they could tell what I was. That was how it went, with us. Humans had difficulty pinpointing us 'creatures,' as they sometimes so rudely called us. We were beings of the night and of darkness, we were strong, and they were weak.

Humans could only spot us—being somewhat similar to humans but not so—if we admitted what we were, or if someone was obviously inhuman—like a banshee, or a grindylow—or if that human was specialized in a profession that made him able to spot us—such as a vampire hunter. And even vampire hunters, sometimes, had difficulty knowing the difference between us, and Them. Them meaning the humans. Cursed or half-vampires, or both, like me blended in much easier than full-blooded vamps.

And so it was with malice, yet respect, that I stood up, and met gazes with Lupin. His eyes were fierce amber, and his gaze was calculating, cautious, stern, and yet distant. He showed no hatred towards me, and yet he was separate. What we were, but even more, _who_ we were, made both of us—especially him, I noticed with a smirk—hesitant to attempt any sort of conversation. We were strangers to each other, in the strongest sense of the word.

Going to stand in front of the werewolf, I tapped the top of his hand with my finger as a way of greeting. Distant, yet not hostile. Neutral. Cocking my head to one side, I drawled, "You said that she," I jerked my thumb towards Hermione, whose I refused to address by her first name in front of others, "brought me here. Where exactly is 'here'?" The last word was emphasized harshly; I was not intimidated in any way by Lupin, nor was I reluctant to speak my thoughts. I had nothing to hide. Hopefully my clipped tone would communicate the message to the werewolf.

Apparently, he understood, for the look he gave me was one of acceptance, with cautiousness mixed in. He had just opened his mouth to speak when a woman's voice came from downstairs. "Dinner time! Hermione, time to stop that homework and come eat!"

Everything froze for me at that moment, as several things hit me. I blamed my inattention and lack of realization on my exhaustion from having not drunken blood nor taken energy for so long. My finger's tap on Lupin's hand had not counted—psychic vamps could only take energy from humans.

I felt like I was falling down the stairs as the realizations hit me. It was as if I was one domino in a line of many, and had been unprepared to be crushed by my preceding domino piece. _That must be Hermione's mother. Her family is here._ _Hermione is Muggle-born! _I remembered. _I'm at Hermione's house._ _I'm stuck in a house with a bunch of muggles and a werewolf._ _I have no idea how to get home. This is a shitty situation._

It was all I could do to repress a scream of rage. Suddenly I wanted to crush the nearest animate or inanimate object, to rip the curtains letting the sun in to shreds, to bite the nearest flesh, to suck energy like a tornado sucks off the land. Consumed by wild emotions, I whirled around to face Hermione, and grabbing her by the wrists tightly, I pushed her backwards up against a wall. Then I slid my hands to her collarbone area, and closed my eyes, reeling, my breath held, as her energy poured into me.

I breathed in deeply, feeling suddenly refreshed as wave upon wave of energy flowed into me, and suddenly I didn't feel exhausted anymore. It was like a rush of drugs that muggle associating Dean Thomas was always talking about—a floating sensation, energy pounding through me, the most blissful, separated feeling.

But then with a zap it was cut off, as a pair of strong hands wrenched my arms from Hermione. I opened my eyes, shaking my head of its dizziness, and realized Lupin was looming over me, my back against the bed post, those sharp amber eyes suddenly fierce. I was more than annoyed that I had been stopped in the middle of reviving myself from exhaustion, but up to the challenge of returning the werewolf's glare.

He was protecting her! How laughable. I grit my teeth, narrowing my eyes, as I was almost nose-to-nose with Lupin, forcing down the distracting thoughts of jealousy. _Every time I need Hermione most, someone else gets in the way. Every time she doesn't fear me, it's inconvenient and I have no time for her, and am unable to stand her. Why can't __**I**__ be the one to spend time with her? Damn it all._

Suddenly I felt a new presence in the room, and Lupin let go with surprising haste and stepped back as a woman I assumed to be Hermione's mother walked into the room, staring at the scene before her. The woman had a sense of innocence, of decisiveness, of peace. She was strong in that Hermione-ish way, and yet dull and unintelligent in that common, peasantry muggle fashion.

Before I could so much as open my mouth, Hermione stepped forward, saying, "Oh, mum, a friend of mine just arrived. He needs a place to stay for a few nights. Is that alright if he stays?"

The woman nodded. I was about to open my mouth again to deny everything Hermione had said, but she was too quick. Smiling with fake cheer, Hermione waved a hand towards me, saying to her mother, "This is another one of my school friends, mum. Meet Neville Longbottom."

__

_ahaha...more soon._


	17. Chapter 17

_Here is an update! Sorry it took so long. _

**WILTED CELANDINE**

_XOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXXOXOXOXOXO_

_Chapter 17_

_ Third person, Hermione's POV_

_XOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXXOXOXOXOXO_

Draco was livid. As soon as the adults were gone, he turned to Hermione, and, face contorted, began to whisper fiercely, "Why did you do that? WHY? How could you be so stupid? Why did you bring me here? How the hell am I supposed to get home? Do you think I'm going to let you care for me, change me? I haven't changed at all. You're not doing anything by associating with me except putting yourself in danger and doing stupider and stupider things by the second…Christ, how could you _do_ this to me?"

It was Hermione's turn to be angry. "It's always about you, isn't it? Always! You're superior, I'm the inferior victim, you control me, you can kill me whenever you want, you can shout and hate me as much as you want, you won't accept any help, because, oh, of _course_, Draco Malfoy can do _anything! _Isn't that right?"

Giving her a vicious glare, Draco didn't reply, and walked downstairs. Dinner was a horrible experience for Hermione. Across the table—where Lupin had sat him—Draco had taken barely one bite, and was looking furtively around, as if expecting the house to fall apart at any moment. Of course, he never really ate – he didn't need to – but he could have at least pretended. Lupin was a bit shifty and uneasy, but was engaged in conversation with Hermione's mother. Meanwhile, Draco kept shooting fierce glares at both Lupin and Hermione, while giving Mr. and Mrs. Granger the occasional revolted glance.

Finally it was over and Hermione showed Draco to the guest room across the hallway, and quickly grabbed the beddings from her mother and brought them inside before her mother realized Draco wouldn't do anything for himself—all those house elves must have spoiled him, she was sure. Once sure her mother was downstairs, Hermione began to set the sheets on the bed mattress. However, Draco pushed her aside none too gently, and with a flick of his wand, the bed was made and neat.

Hermione stared at Draco in horrified incredulity. "Don't you realize that you've broken the rules? No magic out of Hogwarts! Not even a simple _Lumos_ during the summer!"

The vampire's smile glittered pearly white of sharp, gleaming fangs of hard repressed Bloodlust. "Does it look like I give a damn? I do spells at home all the time. Malfoy Manor is unplottable; the Ministry can send as many warning letters to me as they want—the letters automatically find their way to their destination—but they can't do anything to me."

Gritting her teeth in irritation, Hermione placed the bundle of spare pajamas on the bed, and promptly left the room without another word.

August 28th. The day to go to Diagon Alley and pick up school stuff. It had been a horrible hour spent after breakfast that Hermione sat with Draco in the guest room, waiting for the dryer and washer to finish doing their jobs so that Draco's clothes would be clean to wear to Diagon Alley. They had sat there for what seemed an eternity, Draco wearing a pair of loose trousers and a sleeveless shirt, all black, that had been dug up from a box in the attic. The gothic attire had made sour Draco even more morbid to look at—which Hermione couldn't help but do.

She had come upon Draco that morning to find the wizard still asleep, his bare torso uncovered, bed sheets wrinkled at the foot of the bed, unused pajamas still on the floor. The sight of that Quidditch toned body and sleep-tousled blonde head, and Draco's serene sleeping face, as well as those remarkable black boxers made Hermione blush furiously, and she had had to rush out of the room before Lupin or her parents found her out.

Now, they had just arrived in Diagon Alley, and Hermione was using the excuse of perusing the school supplies to think about what she could do about the situation with Draco. Should she let him leave? Make him shop with her and avoid Ron and Harry? Go shopping and meet him some place afterwards?

The decision was made for her. Grabbing her arm roughly, Draco barked, "Gringotts, then shopping, then Hogsmeade."

Hermione was breathless in her attempt to catch up with him. The boy's long strides were equal to two of Hermione's steps, if she was quick enough. And his grip on her arm was not gentle, although the idea of his skin against hers was…

She quickly shoved those thoughts away, and blurted, "Hogsmeade? What do you mean?"

"Do you think I spend the entire summer hibernating at Malfoy Manor, Granger? A few days alone before school has always been my preference."

Hermione stumbled into a Gringotts cart with Draco and a goblin, spluttering in outrage. "What about MY preference?"

Draco's words to the goblin were in Gobbledy-gook, the goblin language. Apparently, he was vault number 76663. "Your preference doesn't matter. You're my charge now, my companion. You are responsible for yourself, I know you can be, but I'm the one with authority in the relationship. Key."

His last word was to the goblin, Furroot, who handed Draco the key and stepped aside as the key was thrust in the lock viciously, words were whispered, and the vault opened. Hermione's curiousity that the goblin hadn't, as they always did, opened the vault himself, disappeared as she was almost blinded by the sight of all the Malfoy wealth.

There were piles upon piles of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts strewing the floor in non-patterned immensity, a few rare coins from other countries, ancient artifacts of tremendous value from foreign countries, and the occasional ruby or emerald-gilded chest. The Malfoy vault was indeed packed to the brim, in the most literal sense of the term. However, with the coolness born of familiarity, Draco grabbed a few handfuls, slender fingers lingering over a few dusty coins, and within the next minute or so, they were out of Gringotts.

Hermione steadied herself by leaning against a shop wall, and then turning to Draco, was about to resume their conversation. However, instead, she found herself faced with Harry, Ron, and Ginny, with the half-vampire Slytherin nowhere to be seen.

"'Lo 'Mione!"

"Had a good summer, Hermione? I heard Lupin is staying at your house."

"Tonks and Moody are making me feel stalked more than protected. How are you?"

Hermione squeaked. "H-Hullo Ron. It was great staying at your house! How are you and the rest? What's happening with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? My summer was okay Ginny, thanks, yours? Yes, Lupin is staying, and it has been interesting, to say the least. He's taught me a lot of things, things about personalities of creatures and people, stuff that I can't read from textbooks. I'm sorry to hear that you haven't been faring so well, Harry, but isn't it fantastic knowing you're free from that now?"

And so, Hermione spent the afternoon with her friends in Diagon Alley, trying to distract her mind from a certain platinum-blonde haired Slytherin.

Hermione read carefully the letter that she held in her hands. It had arrived a few minutes ago, just before she had decided to leave Diagon Alley. It was from Draco.

**Hermione—**

**There are a few things I've been meaning to tell you. First of all, okay, we've accepted that we're going to have to be involved in each other's lives. But there are problems. Namely, two people named Potter and Weasley. I would hate to have to confront you about them some day, or vice versa, because frankly, talking about either of those gits annoys the hell out of me. So, I wanted to reveal a little secret to you as to why I hate them so much. Potter is simple; I hate him because of who he is, the way he is. We've hated each other since the beginning; you know how it goes. As for Weasley…it goes much deeper with him. For centuries, the Weasley family has hunted my race. Vampires, to be exact. Yes, that's right, your friend has been keeping secrets from you. Arthur Weasley, the muggle lover git, is a known vampire hunter. My father prides himself in being able to escape the Weasley's grasp—regardless of the fact that Lucius, in truth, would rather avoid succumbing to Bloodlust then admitting the truth of what he is. You're probably wondering why I am telling you all about this, why I warn you to beware of my father and am shoving away doubts concerning you and I. It's because I know that, regardless of everything, Fate has made Her decisions and there is no way I can avoid you anymore. Avoiding you brings me bad luck—my health is bad enough as it is already. Meet me at the Hogsmeade Hotel at 4 p.m.**

**-Draco**

With a sigh, Hermione decided not to write a letter in reply, and to work on getting to the Hogsmeade Hotel on time. She would talk to him about all of this when she saw him. As it was, her stomach was already churning with the suspicion that Draco's letter, his warnings, his revealing of secrets, and his acceptance of her had another reason behind it other than his own health.

"Ah, excuse me, I was wondering if you could direct me to the room of Dr—augh!"

Hermione turned around to identify the owner of the hand that had so rudely tugged on her hair, and saw Draco giving her a reprimanding glare. Looking above and past her at the hotel employee, Draco finished her sentence with, "Otis. Otis Beichnen."

With that said, Draco linked his arm with Hermione's, and with an audible murmur of, "Come, Melinda," he led her up the stairs. Once they were in, he let go of her arm, and quickly shut and locked the door. Hermione glanced around the room quickly. It was dark, illuminated by a few candles here and there. The curtains were tightly closed, making the room all the more morbid, in Hermione's opinion, but the silken sheets and fluffy pillows on the king-sized bed looked to make quite a comfy night. The carpet was blood red, and the black cushioned chair she sat on was plush—too plush. Hermione struggled to get out from the chair's hugging soft folds, as Draco sat on the bed and gave her that neutral stare of his, making her feel even more the fool.

Finally, with a cry of triumph, Hermione escaped the rabid plushiness. Turning away from Draco to hide her blush, she went to sit on the opposite side of the bed, her back facing his. A thousand thoughts swirled in her brain, many of them anger towards Draco's possessive, dominating, and cold attitude towards her, yet some of them fading, seemingly impossible wishes, much denied. She also felt amazement that she had let herself get so mixed up inside, had changed her goals and her self so much, and all because of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed, burying her head in the pillow in an attempt to hide her frustrated, stinging tears. _Get a hold of yourself, Hermione!_ She yelled mentally to herself. _Be assertive, be aggressive, rebelling, don't let him control you! He's a git, and immune to pain of any kind, so you can't fight against him. Don't let him change you, hurt you, frustrate you, anymore than he already has. Get back to being Hermione Granger, determined Gryffindor, studious club member, A+ student, proud and unwilling to change your beliefs of right and wrong, and always…_

But Hermione didn't know what she always was anymore. There was no always. It used to be that she was predictable, that people knew her habits, knew her for what she was, and she never hid any part of herself, her thoughts, who she was, from anyone—including her very self. But ever since Draco Malfoy had truly intruded in her life, butted in and not let her escape, she had doubted herself, denied her own thoughts, kept secrets from those dearest to her, lied and argued to save her own honor, and also made sure to keep Draco safe from harm as well. It was all too much work, even for Hermione, and she wasn't sure if her brain could handle much more of such burdens.

She cringed as she felt a hand on her back, those fingers stroking in an uncharacteristically gentle, soothing way. Hermione breathed in and out slowly, heavily from repressed sobs, and closed her eyes tightly as Draco continued to stroke her back. Then suddenly he was holding her, and those strong arms were wrapped around her waist, her legs on either side of his, his chest firm against hers, the bitter yet fragrant scent of his cologne in her nose and his voice whispering comforting nothings in her ear.

Suddenly Hermione was crying again, sobbing quietly while spewing out all her worries, fears, and frustrations to the half-vampire in a long, unending sentence full of emotion, sincerity, and vulnerability. The boy simply listened, nodding and stroking her head and massaging her back, taking in some of her burden and putting it somewhere inside of him—Hermione wasn't sure if half-vampires could have hearts, however human a certain one sometimes seemed.

Hermione woke a while later to find that it was the middle of the night. She had fallen asleep curled up against Draco, but then, for safety reasons, he had moved from the bed and instead curled up on the plush cushioned chair by the fireplace. She didn't know what had woken her up, but she was curious to find out.

Sitting up and adjusting the straps of her pajama top she looked around the room. The curtains fluttered quietly in the night wind from the open window. _Draco is still asleep, but—wait._

A low groan came from the area to her left. Hermione's curiousity increased. Perhaps Draco was awake after all? That sound was definitely coming from his direction. After quickly checking all around the room, tiptoeing in superstitious apprehension, Hermione concluded that the noise had been Draco. Was he having a bad dream?

Tiptoeing over to the chair, Hermione stood in front of it, staring questioningly at the Slytherin. Earlier, he had called her his companion; it was a more intimate term. However, he had also called her his charge, and said that he had the authority in the relationship, so he still treated her like a slave, and was uncaring toward her. Then again, he had comforted her when she needed comforting, and he had kissed her more than once in her life, although that did seem ages ago, and he had chosen to have private Herbology lessons with her, but hadn't chosen her to be his Blood Doner for the next phase of his vampirism…and…

Hermione almost sighed. There were too many things to think about, and all of them had to do with Draco. It was all so complicated. What did he feel towards her? Why was everything he said, did, the way he acted, so contradicting every few days? One moment he was pushing her around, manhandling her, the next he was hugging her and giving her a place to hide. What was with him? What did it all _mean_?

She was distracted from her thoughts as another low groan came from Draco, and leaning close, she observed him closely. One hand of his rested on his leg, the other underneath his cheek against the armrest. His hair had begun to lose its tidiness, but his face and relaxed, curled up position was that of a sleeper.

Continuing to lean in, Hermione almost lost her footing a few moments later as suddenly Draco's eyes flicked open, but then in a way too abrupt for falling back into sleep, he was relaxed and close-eyed again. After a few minutes of watching Draco open his eyes, and then revert back into what appeared to be sleep, Hermione realized what was happening to Draco.

He was awakening, dazed and half-awake, and then blacking out. So heavy was the exhaustion from his lack of blood and energy during the summer, that his body wasn't reacting properly and made him continuously gain and then lose consciousness over and over again. Hermione realized suddenly what he'd meant earlier that day upon saying hibernation. _During the summer, with no blood to drink or human energy to suck, he loses his energy, and sleeps the entire time. Vampiristic hibernation…then when school resumes he goes back to drinking blood from victims for food and sucking energy when he, as a psychic vampire, needs it…Wow…to think that he does this all the time!_

A gigantic wave of pity then swept itself into Hermione's heart, and for a few moments, she stood there and blinked the tears away, wondering if there was any way she could help Draco. She realized that all she could do to help him was allow herself to be his one and only Blood Doner, as he said happened in the particular vampirism phase he was in right now. That meant she was the only one to give him blood and let him suck energy from her when he needed it. With a sudden drastic bang in her heart, Hermione realized that there was no escape, and that her life and her self would have to change. _This is going to be a difficult year of school. Goodbye, extra studying, and clubs. Hello, exhaustion, and blood. But most of all…hello, patience, mercy, forgiveness, and commitment._

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO_

_lol my old writing was so melodramatic...but hey, if people like it, I will keep uploading these chapters! Only a few more left until the end.  
_


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